n 


<« 


new  UBRMU 


^I  HAVN'T  TIME  TO  LOOK  AT  DOLLS  NOW. 


/'V 


'^-rf0\ 


HAVEN^T-TIME 


DON^T-BE-IN-A-HURRY, 


OTHER   STOPJES. 


By    T.    S.   ARTHUR. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  fKOil  ORIGINAL  DESIGNS  BY  CROQM&. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1868. 


Entered  according  to  Act  ol  Oougrcss,  in  the  year  1852,  by 

LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO. 

in  tlie  Clerk'a  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tlae  Eastern  District  of 

Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


?AOK 

HAVEN'T-TIME   AND  DON'T-BE-IN-A-HURRY : 

Chap.  I. — Something  about  my  two  Neighbours 7 

11. — Mr.  Haven't-time  starts  on  a  Pleasure-Excursion  12 

III. — Mr.  Haven't-time  in  New  York 20 

rV. — Mr.  Haven't-time  in  the  Art-Galleries 27 

v. — Mr.  Haven't-time  visits  one  of  the  Reservoirs...  32 
VI. — Mr.  Haven't-time  returns  to  Philadelphia  with 

a  Sprained  Ankle 43 

VII, — About  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry.# 48 

VIII. — A  Disappointment 56 

IX.— Starts  for  New  York 69 

X. — Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  in  New  York 76 

XL — Loses  his  Passage   in  the  Albany  Boat. — The 

Consequences. — Conclusion 104 

THE  CARRIER 112 

TRAVELLING  ALONE 141 


HAVEN'T-TIMB 


AND 


DON'T-BE-IN-A-HURRT. 


CHAPTER  I. 
SOMETHIXa  ABOUT  MY  TWO  NEIGHBOURS. 

T  HA  YE  two  neighbours,  somewhat  pe- 
culiar in  their  characters — ^yet  present- 
ing the  types  of  a  large  class — about  whom 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  something.  Their 
names  are  Mr.  Haven  t-time,  and  Mr.  Don't- 
be-in-a-hurry.  Curious  names,  do  you  say? 
Well,  only  wait  until  I  have  told  you  of 
their  sayings  and  doings.  In  ancient 
times,  names  were  given  as  indicative  of 
some  quality  of  the  mind,  or  in  commemo- 
ration of  some  event;  and  this,  because  a 
name  is  significant.     In  a  general  sense, 

A2  7 


8  havex't-time  axd 


name  signifies  (or  should  signify)  quality 
or  character. 

Well,  the  names  borne  by  my  neighbours 
signify  their  qualities  of  mind.  Mr.  Haven' t- 
time  is  a  man  of  medium  height,  with  a 
slender  frame,  rather  thin  and  pale  features, 
a  restless  eye,  and  quick  nervous  move- 
ments. He  speaks  rapidly,  and  usually 
gives  his  words  a  strong  emphasis.  Mr. 
Haven' t-time  has  always  a  great  deal  of  bu- 
siness on  his  hands;  and,  as  may  be  infer- 
red from  the  little  here  said  of  him,  is  gene- 
rally in  a  hurry. 

Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  is  as  different  in 
appearance  as  in  character  from  Mr.  Haven' t- 
time.  He  is  stouter  and  taller  in  person,, 
with  a  darker  complexion,  slower  move- 
ments, and  milder  and  more  placid  counte- 
nance. His  eyes,  which  are  neither  leaden 
nor  brilliant,  have  a  musing,  dreamy  as- 
pect; and,  as  he  often  falls  into  states  of 
abstraction,  have  acquired  a  heavy  motion 
and  an  occasional  fixedness,  so  to  speak, 
that  is  quite  noticeable.     He  is  rarely  ex- 


DON  T-BE-IN-A-HURRY. 


cited  on  any  subject,  takes  little  heed  to  the 
passing  hourS;  and  always  thinks  there  is 
time  enough  to  accomplish  what  he  is  about 
to  do. 

Ask  Mr.  Haven' t-time,  at  any  period  of 
the  day,  what  o'clock  it  is,  and,  without 
looking  at  his  watch,  he  will  tell  you  with- 
in a  few  minutes.  Ask  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry  the  same  question,  and  he  will  say, 
"About  eleven,"  when  it  is  half-past  twelve; 
or,  "  Near  one  o'clock,"  when  it  lacks  only 
a  few  minutes  of  two. 

When  the  breakfast-bell  rings  in  the 
morning,  Mr.  Haven' t-time,  who  is  already 
dressed  and  shaved,  and  has  been  walking 
the  floor  of  the  nursery,  where  his  wife  is 
busy  dressing  the  children,  starts  mstantly 
for  the  dining-room,  and,  if  Mrs.  Haven't- 
time  doesn't  follow  on  the  instant,  pours 
out  his  own  coffee,  and  ten  to  one,  is  half 
through  his  breakfast  before  the  rest  of  the 
family  are  fairly  gathered  at  the  table. 

"You  must  help  the  children,"  he  will 
then  say  to  his  wife.     "I'm  in  a  desperate 


10  haven't-time   and 


hurry  this  morning.  Expect  two  or  three 
customers  by  eight  o'clock.  Can't  you  have 
breakfast  earlier  than  this?" 

And  before  the  others  have  fairly  com- 
menced their  meal,  up  he  starts,  and  oflf  he 
goes  to  his  place  of  business. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  Mr.  Haven't-time 
is  troubled  with  dyspepsia? 

Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  manages  alto- 
gether differently.  He  is  in  no  hurry  to 
go  to  bed,  and  in  quite  as  little  hurry  to 
rise  in  the  morning. 

"  It's  getting  late,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Don't- 
be-in-a-hurry  will  say.  "  Breakfast  is  near- 
ly ready  now,  won't  you  get  up  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  replies  Mr.  Don't-be-in- 
a-hurry — ^half  awake,  half  sleeping — as  he 
turns  over  and  composes  himself  for  one  lit- 
tle nap  more. 

"But,  come,  my  dear,  the  sun  has  been 
up  this  hour — come!"  urges  Mrs.  Don't-be- 
in-a-hurry. 

"Yes,  yes — I'll  rise  soon.  There's  time 
enough.     The  world  wasn't  made  in  a  day/* 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  11 


At  last  the  breakfast-bell  rings. 

"I  declare!"  exclaims  Mr.  Don't-be-in-Or 
hurry,  starting  up.  "I  didn't  think  it  was 
so  late.  But  I'll  be  along  in  a  minute. 
Don't  wait  for  me.  By  the  time  you  are 
fliirly  at  the  table,  I  will  be  down." 

Mrs.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  and  the  chil- 
dren, who  must  not  be  too  late  to  school, 
are  nearly  through  their  morning  meal  be- 
fore Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  makes  his  ap- 
pearance in  the  dining-room.  His  coffee 
is  cold,  at  which  he  grumbles  a  little;  but 
admits  his  lateness  at  the  table  as  an  ex- 
cuse. Yery  leisurely  he  takes  his  meal,  en- 
joying each  morsel  with  a  relish,  and  when 
he  leaves  the  table  feels  very  comfortable. 

Generally  it  happens  that  Mr.  Haven' t- 
time  gets  to  his  store  fully  an  hour  before 
any  customers  come  in;  while  Mr.  Dont- 
be-in-a-hurry  is  usually  at  his  place  of  bu- 
siness an  hour  too  late. 

Last  summer  these  two  neighbours  of 
mine  took  each  a  little  pleasure-jaunt. 


12  haven't-time   and 


CHAPTER   II. 

MR.  HAVEN'T-TIME   STARTS   ON  A  PLEASURE- 
EXCURSION. 

A  FEW  days  before   Mr.   Haven't-time 
started,  lie  mentioned  his  proposed  jour- 
ney to  a  friend,  who  asked,  very  naturally, 
in  which  direction  he  was  going. 
^  "North,"  replied  Mr.  Haven't-time. 
"As  far  as  Niagara?"  inquired  the  friend, 
"Yes,  I  think  of  going  there." 
"How  long  will  you  be  gone?" 
"A  couple  of  weeks,"  replied  Mr.  Haven  t- 
time. 

The  friend  shook  hi§  head. 
*  "  The  period  is  too  short.     You'll  be  in 
a  hurry  all  the  time — fatigue  yourself— and 
see  nothing  as  it  ought  to  be  seen." 

"A  great  deal  may  be  seen  in  a  very 
short  time,"  was  answered,  "  if  a  man  will 
only  keep  his  eyes  open.  At  any  rate,  1 
can  only  spare  a  couple  of  weeks." 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  13 


"You  expect  to  spend  a  short  time  in 
New  York?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Haven'i>time. 
"  Heretofore  my  visits  there  have  been  for 
business  purposes  alone;  but  now  I  am 
going  for  pleasure,  and  shall  look  up  all  the 
lions." 

"How  long  will  you  stay  there?" 

"A  couple  of  days,"  said  Mr.  Haven't- 
.time. 

The  friend  shook  his  head.  "You  will 
see  nothing  in  reality." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it.  I  see  more  than 
most  men. '  I  go  over  a  great  deal  of  ground 
in  a  short  time." 

One  morning,  a  day  or  two  after  this 
little  interview,  Mr.  Haven  t-time  arose 
very  early.  All  the  house  was  stirring  soon 
after,  for  at  nine  o'clock  he  was  to  start 
for  New  York;  and  though  it  was  only  five, 
he  felt  almost  certain  that  breakfast  would 
be  too  late.  When  the  cook  came  creep- 
ing down  from  the  garret,  he  met  her  on 
the  stairs,  and  said  querulously — 


14  haven't-time  A^sTD 


"You  must  hurry  with  the  breakfast, 
Nancy;  I  am  going  to  New  York  this 
morning." 

Nancy,  who  never  liked  to  be  hurried  or 
interfered  with,  muttered  something  in  re- 
turn which  was  not  heard  by  Mr.  Haven't- 
time. 

"I'll  wager  ten  dollars,"  said  he,  on  com- 
ing back  to  the  chamber  from  which  he  had 
stepped  forth  to  hurry  the  cook,  "that 
Nancy  will  be  an  hour  later  than  usual 
with  her  breakfast." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?"  asked  his  wife. 

"  Oh !  because  I  know  she  will.  I  never 
was  in  a  hurry  in  my  life  that  something 
didn't  turn  up  to  hinder  me.  Ten  chances 
to  one  if  the  fire  isn't  out  in  the  range." 

Just  as  Mr.  Haven't-time  said  this,  the 
voice  of  Nancy  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"  What  is  wanted  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Haven't- 
time. 

"  Please  to  give  me  some  money  for 
charcoal.     The  fire  is  all  out." 

"There,   didn't  I  say   so!"     And  Mr. 


15 


Haven't-time  began  vralidng  nervously 
about  tlie  room. 

^'  Don't  worry  yourself,"  said  his  wife, 
after  she  had  given  Nancy  some  money  for 
the  charcoal.     "  It  is  early  yet." 

"  Early !     It's  nearly  six  o'clock." 

"  Not  half-past  ^ve,  as  you  can  see  by 
the  clock." 

"  It'll  be  six  ere  the  fire  is  kindled,  and 
dear  knows  how  long  after  that  before 
breakfast  will  be  ready." 

Mrs.  Haven't-time  knew,  from  long  expe- 
rience, that  no  good  would  come  of  oppos- 
ing or  arguing  with  her  husband  3  so  she  let 
him  worry  and  fume,  while  she  went 
quickly  to  the  work  of  washing  and  dress- 
ing the  children.  Up-stairs  and  down-stairs, 
from  parlour  to  sitting-room,  and  from 
sitting-room  to  chamber,  wandered  Mr. 
Haven't-time  like  a  perturbed  spirit,  and 
all  because  he  had  taken  it  into  his  head 
that  breakfast  would  be  late. 

Foolish  man !     His  trouble  was  all  for 

nothing.   Breakfast  was  served  at  half-past 
y.— B 


16  hayen't-time  and 


seven,  the  usual  hour.  Then  he  poured 
the  hot  coffee  do^vn  his  throat,  a  cupful 
at  a  draught,  and  swallowed  his  steak  and 
toast  in  great,  half-chewed  mouthfuls.  Long 
before  the  rest  were  done,  he  pushed  back 
his  chair,  and  descended  to  the  parlour  to 
await  the  hackman  who  was  to  convey 
him  and  his  baggage  to  the  steamboat. 
The  time  was  a  quarter  before  eight.  So 
there  was  half  an  hour  to  spare,  as  the 
hackman  had  been  ordered  to  be  in  attend- 
ance at  a  quarter  after  eight  precisely. 
Half-past  eight  would  have  been  early 
enough ;  but,  then,  should .  the  hackman 
fail  in  punctuality,  no  time  would  be  left 
in  which  to  call  another  carriage.  Mr. 
Haven't-time,  with  his  usual  wise  fore- 
thought, provided  for  this  contingency. 

Yes ;  after  all  the  worry,  breakfast  was 
over,  and  there  was  yet  half  an  hour  to 
spare.  The  peace  of  mind  and  comfort  of 
both  himself  and  family  had  been  disturbed 
by  Mr.  Haven't-time,  and  all  because  of  his 
impatient  temper. 


DOX'T-BE-IN-A-HUPvRY.  17 


Now,  as  there  was  full  half  an  hour  to 
spare,  as  I  have  said,  it  may  be  supposed 
that  my  neighbour  spent  this  time  calmly, 
and  m  pleasant  communion  with  his  fa- 
mily, from  whom  he  was  about  parting  for 
a  short  season.  No  such  thing.  He  now 
besfan  to  fret  himself  lest  the  hackman 
would  disappoint  him.  A  little  while  he 
would  sit  by  the  window ;  then  lean  out 
and  look  far  down  the  street;  next  consult 
his  watch;  and  then  take  two  or  three 
turns  across  the  parlour-floor.  This  was 
repeated  over  and  over  again. 

'^  Sharpen  my  pencil,"  said  a  bright  little 
fellow,  clambermg  up  on  his  knee,  as  he  sat 
himself  down  by  the  window. 

"  Haven' t-tinie,  dear,"  replied  the  father, 
coldly  replacing  the  child  upon  the  floor. 

"Just  look  at  my  doll's  new  frock," 
urged  another  child — "isn't  it  beautiful? 
Mother  made  it  for  me." 

"  0  yes,  it's  very  pretty,  no  doubt,"  was 
answered,  "  but  I  haven't  time  to  look  at 


18  haven't-time  and 


dolls  now.  Surely  that  fellow  ought  to  be 
here!" 

And  again  he  drew  forth  his  watch.  It 
was  seven  minutes  past  eight. 

"If  he  should  disappoint  me !" 

And  in  fear  that  the  hackman  would  not 
keep  his  engagement,  he  spent  the  next  six 
or  seven  minutes  in  a  state  of  nervous  im- 
patience— thus  making  both  himself  and 
family  very  uncomfortable. 

At  length  it  was  a  quarter  past  eight ; 
but  no  hackman  was  at  the  door. 

"  Just  as  I  feared/'  said  Mr.  Haven' t-time. 
"  It  is  too  bad — too  bad !  No  faith  to  be 
placed  in  anybody." 

And  off  he  started  to  hunt  up  another 
hackman.  Scarcely  had  he  turned  the  first 
corner,  ere  the  carriage,  waited  for  so  impa- 
tiently, drove  up. 

Full  twenty  minutes  elapsed  before  the 
return  of  Mr.  Haven't-time  with  another 
carriage.  He  was,  of  course,  excited  and 
unreasonable,    and    would    hear    nothing 


don't-be-ix-a-hukry.      •  19 


the  first  hackman  had  to  say.  Hurriedly 
his  trunk  was  taken  up,  and  off  he  dashed, 
forgetting,  in  his  excitement  and  confusion, 
to  kiss  his  wife  and  chikh^en,  or  even  so 
much  as  to  wave  them  an  adieu. 

"  Push  up  your  horses,  driver,  or  I  shall 
lose  my  passage,"  he  cried,  every  now  and 
then ;  but,  for  all  his  urging,  the  driver  did 
not  in  the  least  increase  the  rate  of  speed, 
for  he  knew  that  he  would  be  in  time. 

The  first  bell  was  ringing  when  Mr. 
Haven't-time  stepped  on  board  of  the  John 
Stevens.  So  he  had  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
to  spare  for  all  his  impatience;  and  but  for 
his  weak  fear  that  the  hackman  would  not 
keep  his  appointment,  might  have  been  at 
the  boat  much  earlier,  if  that  would  have 
increased  his  satisfaction. 

No  one  suffers  himself  to  become  excited 
and  unreasonable,  without  an  after-feeling 
of  discomfort.  Long  after  the  passengers 
were  on  their  way  to  New  York,  did  our 
friend  sit  m  a  dreamy,  oppressed  state 
of  mind,  musing  over  the  incidents  of  the 


20  '       haven't-time  and 


morning.  He  felt  by  no  means  satisfied 
with  himself.  That  was  impossible  under 
the  circumstances;  for  his  own  common 
sense  told  him  that  he  had  acted  very  fool- 
ishly— and  no  one  who  has  this  conscious- 
ness can  enjoy  much  self-satisfaction. 


CHAPTER    III. 
MR.  HAVEN'T-TIME  IN  NEW  YORK. 

At  two  o'clock,  Mr.  Haven't-time  arrived 
in  the  city  of  New  York,  where  he  dined 
in  a  hurry,  and  then  started  forth  to  see 
what  was  to  be  seen.  He  had  a  particular 
friend,  whose  store  was  in  Pearl,  near  Ful- 
ton street,  to  whom  he  had  written  of  his 
purpose  to  spend  a  few  days  in  New  York, 
and  the  friend  had  replied,  telling  him  to 
be  sure  to  call  on  him,  and  he  would  take 
pleasure  in  showing  him  whatever  was 
notable  in  the  city.  This  he  had  fully  in- 
tended to  do ;  but,  as  his  stay  in  New  York 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  -21 


was  to  be  so  limited,  lie  felt  that  every 
moment  was  of  value  and  must  be  im- 
proved. It  seemed  like  a  loss  of  time  to  go 
so  far  away  as  Pearl  street.  So,  wdtliout 
having  any  distinct  object  in  his  mind,  he 
sallied  forth,  and,  turning  his  steps  up 
Broadway,  walked  at  a  rapid  pace  until  he 
reached  Union  Park.  But,  though  many 
imposing  edifices  met  his  eyes,  he  remained 
ignorant  of  their  names  or  the  purposes  for 
which  they  were  erected.  From  that  point 
he  started  off,  at  a  venture,  toward  the 
East  Eiver,  and  swept  around  through 
some  of  the  most  unattractive  portions  of 
the  city.  It  was  sundown  when  he  got 
back  to  the  hotel,  by  which  time  he  was 
suffering  from  extreme  fatigue  and  a  most 
distracting  headache. 

Not  having  called  on  his  friend,  for  want 
of  time,  during  the  afternoon,  it  was  his 
purpose  to  see  him  that  evening  at  his  re- 
sidence. But  he  felt  too  unwell,  after  tea, 
to  go  out;  and  so  retired  to  bed,  feeling 
very  much  dissatisfied  with  the  result  of 


22  haven' T-TIME   AXD 


his  first  day  in  Nevv  York.  He  had  worn 
himself  down  with  wandering  aimlessly 
about.  What  had  he  seen?  Nothing  but 
a  great  panorama  of  houses  and  people. 
There  was  scarcely  a  single  distinct  image 
in  his  mind. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Haven't-time  had  hur- 
ried through  his  breakfast  on  the  next 
morning,  he  salhed  forth  to  get  a  more 
satisfactory  view  of  New  York  than  he  had 
obtamed  on  the  previous  day.  A  little  ex- 
perience had  made  him,  temporarily,  a  lit- 
tle wiser.  So,  although  he  felt  in  a  hurry, 
and  could  almost  feel  the  hours  sweeping 
by  on  rapid  wings,  he  took  his  way  with 
hasty  stej)s  to  Pearl  street.  It  w^as  only 
half-past  eight  o'clock  when  he  arrived  at 
his  friend's  store ;  so  he  was  too  early  for  him 
by  at  least  an  hour.  If  he  had  called  on  the 
afternoon  previous,  an  engagement  to  meet 
at  a  certain  hour  could  have  been  entered 
into,  and  thus  time  would  have  been  saved 
and  a  disappointment  like  this  prevented. 

The  best  Mr.  Haven' t-time  could  now  do 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  23 


was  to  leave  his  address  and  go  back  to  the 
hotel.  But  the  thought  of  waiting  there 
for  a  whole  hour  fretted  him  exceedingly. 

"I  shall  get  to  see  nothing,"  said  he  to 
himself,  impatiently.  "To-morrow  morn- 
ing I  must  leave,  so  only  part  of  a  single 
day  remains.  0  dear!  K  I  had  called 
to  see  my  friend  yesterday,  how  much 
would  have  been  gained." 

How  unprofitable  are  regrets! 

With  impatient  steps  did  our  hero  stride 
to  and  fro  through  the  entrance-hall  of  the 
Astor  House,  now  glancing  at  the  clock, 
and  now  turning  his  eyes  to  the  door  as  it 
swung  open  to  admit  some  new  comer. 
Even  until  the  hour  of  ten  came  was  this 
continued,  and  yet  the  face  of  his  friend 
had  not  yet  gladdened  his  vision.  How 
restless  he  had  grown! 

"  I  can  bear  this  no  longer,"  he  at  length 
exclaimed  mentally,  and,  passing  through 
the  door,  he  was  just  stepping  upon  the 
pavement,  with  the  intention  of  going  smne- 
where,  when  he  met  his  friend. 


24  HAVEN*T.TIME    AND 


"My  dear  Mr.  Haven' t-time,  how  glad 
I  am  to  see  you!"  Such  was  his  friend's 
warm  greeting  as  he  seized  his  hand. 
"  When  did  you  arrive  ?" 

"Yesterday." 

"  Ah !  Why  then  did  not  you  call  around 
before  ?  If  I  had  seen  you  in  the  afternoon, 
I  could  have  so  alrranged  matters  as  to  give 
you  the  whole  of  to-day.  As  it  is,  I  will 
not  now  be  disengaged  until  the  afternoon. 
But  we  will  make  good  use  of  our  time. 
How  long  do  you  remain  ?" 

"Only  until  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow !  0  dear,  no !  You  musn't 
go  to-morrow.  A  week  will  not  be  too  long 
to  spend  here.  I  want  to  take  you  to  Green- 
wood, to  the  High  Bridge,  over  to  Staten 
Island,  and  to  half  a  dozen  other  noted 
places  in  and  around  New  York.  Then 
there  are  two  or  three  galleries  of  paintings 
in  which  hours  may  be  spent  with  true 
enjoyment." 

"Must  go  to-morrow,"  was  the  decided 
answer. 


don't-be-in-a-hurrt.  25 


"Why  do  3^ou  say  that?" 

"  No  more  time  to  spare  for  New  York. 
Am  on  my  way  to  Niagara,  and  must  re- 
turn to  Philadelphia  in  two  weeks  from  the 
day  I  left  home." 

"Two  weeks!  You'll  be  on  the  wing 
the  whole  time,  fatigue  yourself/  and  see 
little  or  nothing.  Give  yourself  a  longer 
period." 

"Impossible!  Must  be  back  in  two 
weeks." 

"  Stay  here  a  day  longer  than  you  pro- 
pose.   I'll  give  you  the  whole  of  to-morrow." 

"Haven't -time,  indeed,"  was  the  reply. 
It  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  start  in  the 
morning,  if  I  would  accomplish  my  jour- 
ney within  the  allotted  period." 

"  Won't  you  remain  a  few  days  on  your 
way  back?"  asked  the  friend. 

"Most  likely.  That,  however,  will  de- 
pend on  the  time  left  after  visiting  Niagara." 

Again  the  friend  urged  Mr.  Haven' t-time 
to  stay  a  day  longer.  But  he  could  not 
be  moved  from  his  purpose  to  leave  in  the 


26  haven't-time  and 


morning.  So  an  engagement  was  made  for 
an  afternoon  ride  to  Greenwood,  as  a  place 
well  worthy  a  visit. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  the  two  men 
parted.  They  were  to  meet  again  at  three. 
In  the  interval,  Mr.  Haven't-time  proposed 
to  visit  the  Art-Union  gallery  and  another 
choice  collection  of  pictures;  also,  to  ride 
out  as  far  as  one  of  the  Croton  reservoirs. 

First  he  went  to  the  Art-Union  gallery, 
where  were  a  number  of  choice  paintings. 
Here  a  lover  of  art  might  linger  and  en- 
joy himself  for  hours.  Mr.  Haven't-time 
loved  pictures,  and  had  anticipated  a  good 
deal  of  pleasure  from  visiting  the  galleries 
of  paintings  in  New  York.  At  last  he  was 
in  one  of  these  galleries.  The  jpleasure  he 
had  long  hoped  to  enjoy  was  within  his 
reach.  Exquisite  works  of  art  were  all 
around  him — gems  from  the  pencils  of  some 
of  the  most  eminent  living  artists. 

But  Mr.  Haven't-time,  now  that  the 
means  of  enjoyment  were  within  his  reach, 
was  in  too  hurried  a  state  to  accept  the 


don't-be-in-a-hurrt.  27 


proffered  blessing.  He  could  only  glance 
cursorily  around,  taking  in  a  glimpse  of 
beauty  here  and  there,  but  seeing  not  the 
real  touches  of  genius  in  any  thing.  Scarce- 
ly did  he  learn  the  names  of  pictures  over 
which  he  might  have  lingered  in  pure  de- 
light for  a  long  period. 

And  here,  for  the  present,  we  will  leave 
my  friend.  In  the  next  chapter  will  be 
related  his  further  efforts  to  see  what  was 
to  be  seen  in  and  around  New  York  during 
the  brief  period  he  proposed  to  remain. 


CHAPTER  ly. 
MPv.  HAVEN'T-TIME  IN  THE  ART  GALLERIES. 

We  left  Mr.  Haven't-time  in  the  Art- 
Union  gallery,  in  which  were  then  exhibit- 
ed some  very  choice  works  of  art.  He  was, 
as  I  have  said,  a  lover  of  pictures,  and  had, 
for  months,  looked  forward  to  the  pleasure 

now  within  his  reach.     Foolish  man!     He 

v.— c 


28  haven't-timb  and 


never  had  time  to  enjoy  the  present — was 
always  hurrjdng  forward  to  meet  some  com- 
ing good.  The  day's  own  delight  was  re- 
jected in  the  eagerness  with  which  he  look- 
ed for  that  which  belonged  to  the  morrow. 

And  is  not  this  too  much  the  case  with 
many  of  my  readers,  both  young  and  old? 
Think,  how  often  you  have  but  half  enjoy- 
ed the  present,  which  you  possessed,  be- 
cause your  thought  was  on  the  future,  which 
was  not  yet  your  own — and  which  you 
could  not  possibly  enjoy  until  it  became 
the  present.  Who,  like  Mr.  Haven't-time 
in  the  picture-gallery,  has  not  lost  a  long- 
expected  enjoyment,  presented  at  last  for 
his  accejDtance,  and  simply  because  there 
was  something  else  to  be  enjoyed  so  soon 
as  this  pleasure  was  over? 

There  was  a  picture  in  the  gallery  to 
which  the  newspapers  had  often  referred, 
and  which  Mr.  Haven't-time  had  greatly 
desired  to  see.  It  was  one  of  those  pic- 
tures that  do  not  strike  the  eye  with  a 
broad  contrast  of  colours,  or  with  strong 


don't-be-in-a-hurry  29 


points  in  the  composition ;  but,  wonderfully 
true  to  nature,  and  exquisite  in  sentiment 
and  detail;  it  required,  for  its  full  apprecia- 
tion, both  good  taste  and  a  mind  thoughtful 
and  in  repose.  Before  this  picture  stood, 
at  length,  Mr.  Haven't-time.  He  had  the 
good  taste  necessary  for  the  enjo;)Tnent  of 
such  a  picture,  and  the  moment  his  eyes 
rested  upon  it,  he  perceived  that  it  was  in- 
deed all  that  it  had  been  pronounced  by 
the  art-critics.  He  had,  already,  looked 
several  times  at  his  watch,  and  only  a  few 
minutes  now  remained  of  the  time  men- 
tally allotted  for  his  stay  in  the  gallery. 

"Ah,"  said  he  to  himself,  with  a  sudden 
emotion  of  pleasure,  as  he  found  himself 
in  front  of  and  recognised  this  painting, 
"here  is  the  much  talked-of  picture." 

A  moment  or  two  he  gazed  upon  it. 
"  Beautiful — charming — exquisite,"  was 
murmured. 

Then  he  drew  forth  his  watch;  looked 
and  sighed.    It  was  half-past  eleven  o'clock. 

"  How  unfortunate !     What  would  I  not 


30  haven't-time  and 


give  for  half  an  hour.  But  I  can't  stay  a 
moment  longer  here.  I  must  visit  the 
Dusseldorf  Gallery." 

And  Mr.  Haven't-time  turned  from  the 
picture  he  had  so  much  desired  to  see,  with 
but  a  vague,  general  idea  of  it  in  his  mind, 
and  not  a  single  one  of  its  many  rare  ex- 
cellencies discovered  and  appreciated. 

"  I  ought  to  have  visited  the  Dusseldorf 
paintings  first,"  said  he,  as  he  hurried  along 
the  street — "I  shall  have  no  time  to  ex- 
amine them  now  as  they  ought  to  be  ex- 
amined. Why  didn't  I  go  there  yesterday 
afternoon,  instead  of  roaming  about  the 
streets  to  no  purpose,  and  making  myself 
sick  into  the  bargain?" 

And  Mr.  Haven't-time,  who  felt  hurried 
and  nervous,  sighed  again. 

To  the  Dusseldorf  Gallery  he  now  re- 
paired. Shall  we  accompany  hiija  there? 
That  would  be  scarcely  more  satisfactory 
to  the  reader  than  was  the  visit  to  Mr. 
Haven't-time.  He  stayed  just  ten  minutes, 
passing  hurriedly  from  picture  to  picture, 


don't-be-ix-a-hurry.  81 


now  looking  at  his  watch  and  now  at  a 
painting,  and  always  having  in  his  mind 
a  more  perfect  idea  of  the  position  of  the 
hands  on  his  gold  lever,  than  of  the  dis- 
tinguishing points  in  the  work  of  art  he 
happened  to  be  contemplating. 

Ten  minutes,  I  have  said,  was  ah.  he 
could  spare  for  the  Dusseldorf  Gallery.  If, 
during  that  brief  period,  Mr.  Haven' t-time 
had  composed  hunself — suppressed  his  hur- 
ried feelings — and  rightly  improved  the 
limited  opportunity  his  own  will  had  given 
him,  by  studying  a  single  one  of  the  many 
fine  pictures  by  which  he  was  surrounded, 
he  would  have  gained  something — have 
fixed  in  his  memory  certain  beautiful  forms 
and  achievements  of  art,  that  would  after- 
ward have  proved,  in  remembrance,  a  source 
of  unalloyed  pleasure. 

But  Mr.  Haven' t-time  was  in  too  hurried 
a  state  of  mind  for  so  wise  an  act  as  this. 
He  had  come  to  see  this  celebrated  collec- 
tion of  paintings,  and  he  attempted  to  see 
it  at  what  almost  might  be  called  a  single 

C2 


32  haven't-time  and 


glance.  Of  course,  he  saw  next  to  nothing 
at  all;  and  when,  at  the  expiration  of  his 
ten  mmutes,  he  left  the  gallery,  the  pic- 
tures he  had  looked  upon  formed  m  his 
mmd  only  an  ever-shifting  kaleidoscope 
of  brilliant  forms  and  colours.  He  had 
gained  no  new  ideas  in  art ;  had  examined 
appreciatingly  no  single  work.  He  could 
say  that  he  had  visited  the  Dusseldorf  Gal- 
lery— but,  beyond  that,  he  would  be  able  to 
remember  or  communicate  nothing. 


CHAPTER    V. 

MR.  HAVEN'T-TIME  VISITS  ONE  OF  THE 
RESERVOIRS. 

"With  a  hurried  manner  Mr.  Haven't-time 
jumped  into  the  first  stage  that  passed,  and 
was  off  for  one  of  the  Croton  reservoirs. 
There  are  two  of  these — one  known  as  the 
Receivmg,  and  the  other  as  the  Distribut- 
The  former  is  the  laro^est 


* 

don't-be-ix-a-hurry.  33 


and  most  distant.  It  receives  tlie  water 
from  the  Croton  aqueduct,  which  is  over 
thirty  miles  in  length,  and  is  capable  of 
holding  many  millions  of  gallons.  From 
this  immense  reservoir  the  water  passes 
to  the  smaller  one,  from  whence  it  is  distri- 
buted, by  means  of  pipes,  through  the  city. 

Mr.  Haven't-time  had  no  particular  o]> 
ject  in  view,  beyond  mere  curiosity,  when 
he  first  proposed  a  visit  to  one  of  these  re- 
servoirs ;  and,  hot  as  the  day  proved  to  be, 
and  limited  as  his  time  now  was,  it  did  not 
once  occur  to  him  that  more  would  really 
be  gained  in  pleasure  and  profit  by  spend- 
ing the  hour,  or  hour  and  a-half,  it  would 
take  to  ride  out  and  back,  in  the  art-galle- 
ries. No.  He  had  resolved  to  see  a  good 
deal  of  New  York  in  a  short  period.  His 
time  was  limited,  and  he  must  make  the 
most  of  it. 

How  were  the  thoughts  of  Mr.  Haven't- 
time  occupied,  as  he  went  lumbering  along 
the  street  in  the  heavy  omnibus,  that  was 
continually  stopping  to  let  out  or  take  up 


34  haven't-time  axd 


passengers?  In  recalling  images  of  tlie 
beautiful  in  art,  and  fixing  tliem  more  per- 
manently in  his  mind;  or,  in  preparing 
himself  for  a  right  appreciation  of  the  gigan- 
tic work  by  which  New  York  was  supplied 
with  pure  water  from  a  mountain-stream  ? 
Not  by  any  means  so  profitably,  I  am  com- 
pelled to  say.  His  thought  was,  for  once, 
fix:ed  on  the  present,  and  he  was  fretting 
himself  at  the  slow  progress  made  by  the 
omnibus,  and  at  the  frequent  stoppages  for 
the  accommodation  of  passengers.  Every 
little  while  he  pulled  out  his  watch  and 
looked  at  it,  noting  each  time,  to  a  second, 
the  place  of  the  hands  upon  its  dial.  Once 
or  twice  he  called  out,  impatiently,  to  the 
driver — 

"  Hallo !     Are  you  asleep  up  there  ?" 

"What's  wanted?"  growled  down  the 
driver  at  the  second  interrogation  made  by 
Mr.  Haven' t-time. 

"Are  you,  or  your  horses,  asleep?"  was 
returned  ill-naturedly. 

Now,  angry  and  insulting  language  rare- 


DON  T-BE-IX-A-HURRY. 


ly,  if  ever,  does  any  good.  It  certainly  did 
no  good  in  this  case;  for  instead  of  in- 
creasing the  speed  of  his  horses,  the  driver 
lessened  it  very  perceptibly,  and  at  almost 
every  cross-street  stopped  to  wait  for  pas- 
sengers, holding  up  his  hand  to  every  man 
who  seemed  to  be  looking  at  him,  even  if 
he  were  a  whole  block  distant.  At  length 
the  patience  of  Mr.  Haven't-time  became 
entirely  exhausted.  He  jerked  the  check 
strmg,  and  when  the  omnibus  stopped, 
handed  up  his  sixpence,  saying  as  he  did 
so — 

"  Here,  take  your  fare !  I  can  walk 
faster  than  you  go." 

The  passengers  smiled  at  Mr.  Haven't- 
time's  impatience,  as  he  left  the  omnibus, 
while  the  driver,  piqued  at  his  words,  crack- 
ed his  whip  over  his  horses'  heads,  and 
soon  swept  far  in  advance  of  him.  The 
disturbed  state  of  Mr.  Haven't-time,  added 
to  the  new  exertion  of  walking,  soon  brought 
the  perspiration  from  every  pore,  and  thus 
discomfort  of  body  was  added  to  disturb- 


36  haven't-time  and 


ance  of  mind.  He  strode  on,  however,  at 
a  rapid  pace,  no  little  mortified,  by  the  way, 
at  seeing  the  stage  in  which  he  ought  to 
have  been  riding,  soon  far  ahead  of  him. 

The  first  reservoir  was  at  least  a  mile 
distant.  This  he  learned  on  making  in- 
quiry, after  having  tired  and  overheated 
himself  by  walking.  Several  omnibuses 
had  passed  him,  all  going  to  the  point  he 
wished  to  reach,  but  having  abandoned 
one,  his  pride  would  not  let  him  take  an- 
other. 

Ah !  how  much  do  not  people  some- 
times sacrifice  to  a  weak  and  foolish  pride. 
They  do  unreasonable  things,  entailing 
upon  themselves,  m  consequence,  trouble 
and  inconvenience ;  but  pride  will  not  let 
them  acknowledge,  in  act,  that  they  had 
been  unreasonable,  and  so  they  continue 
to  bear  the  evil  arising  from  their  own 
conduct. 

No,  Mr.  Haven't>-time  had  left  one  omni- 
bus because  it  went  too  slow  for  him,  and 
though  others  were  passing  him  every  few 


don't-be-in-a-hurky.  37 


moments  at  a  rapid  rate  compared  with 
the  progress  he  was  making,  pride  would 
not  let  him  avail  himself  of  their  speed 
and  convenience. 

He  was  yet,  as  has  been  said,  a  mile 
from  the  reservoir.  He  was  hot,  tired,  and 
greatly  fretted  in  his  mind.  Moreover,  on 
consulting  his  watch,  he  discovered  that  it 
was  not  far  from  one  o'clock. 

Now,  Mr.  Haven' t-time  was  a  man  who, 
after  making  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing,  never 
liked  to  stop  short  of  the  accomplishment. 
This  is  a  good  trait  of  character,  provided 
it  be  accompanied  with  forethought  and 
sound  judgment.  When  we  commence  a 
work,  we  should  not  let  ordinary  hinder- 
ances  prevent  its  completion.  But  if  we 
discover  that  there  is  an  error  in  our  cal- 
culation, and  that  an  injury  rather  than  a 
benefit  will  result  should  we  persevere  to 
the  end,  then  it  is  wisdom  to  abandon  the 
pursuit. 

Well    would    it    have    been    for    Mr. 


38  havex't-time  and 


Haven't-time  had  he  acted  thus  wisely. 
But  no — he  had  started  for  the  reservoir 
— and  to  the  reservoir  he  must  go.  It 
was  nearly  one  o'clock  and  it  would  cer- 
tainly be  after  two  before  he  could  get 
back  to  the  Astor  House.  No  matter !  He 
was  bound  to  go.  Then  why  not  take  one 
of  the  many  omnibuses  that  were  rattling 
by  ?  The  reader  is  already  answered.  He 
was  disgusted  with  these  slow  vehicles,  and 
meant  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  way. 

So  on  he  hurried,  with  increasing  speed, 
and  soon  got  beyond  the  shaded  sidewalks 
to  the  open  lots  of  the  suburbs.  Here  the 
sun's  direct  rays  were  poured  meltingly 
down  upon  him.  But  he  still  pressed  for- 
ward, dripping  at  every  pore,  and  half-suf- 
focated with  the  dust  that  filled  the  sultry 
atmosphere. 

At  last,  Mr.  Haven't-time  reached  the 
lower  reser^^oir,  so  excessively  fatigued, 
that  he  could  with  difficulty  drag  his  tired 
limbs  up  the  flight  of  stone  steps  that  led 


DO^''T-BE-IX-A-HURflT.  39 


to  the  top  of  the  surrounding  walls.  But, 
the  object  of  his  great  exertions  being  gain- 
ed, all  interest  therein  at  once  subsided 
There  was  a  vast  amount  of  mason-work, 
and  a  large  collection  of  water,  upon  which 
the  sun  shone  dazzlingly  down.  As  to 
picturesque  beauty,  it  bore  no  comparison 
whatever  to  the  Fairmount  of  his  own  city. 

"Bah!"  he  said,  impatientl}',  after  mov- 
ing along  the  surface  of  the  v\^all  for  a  few 
rods — "And  is  it  for  this  that  I  have  near- 
ly made  myself  sick  ?" 

And  he  turned  himself  about,  walked 
back  to  tlie  stone  staircase,  and  descend- 
ed to  the  street. 

At  no  gTeat  distance  was  the  stopping- 
place  of  a  line  of  omnibuses,  from  which  a 
stage  started  every  few  minutes.  A  stage 
had  just  come  in,  and  another  was  just 
moving  off,  as  Mr.  Ilaven't-time  came  with- 
in hailing-distance. 

"Hallo,  there!  Stop  a  moment!"  shout- 
ed our  friend,  throwing  up  his  hands  and 
makino;  sisrns  to  the  driver. 


40  hatex't-ti:.ie  and 


But  the  driver  neither  seeing  nor  heu.^- 
hig  him,  Mr.  Haven' t-time  started  forward 
"on  the  run,"  still  shoutmg  and  making 
motions  with  his  hands.  All  was  of  no 
avail,  however.  The  stage  kept  on  its 
wa}^ 

"You  can't  make  him  hear,"  said  the 
driver  of  an  omnibus  which  had  just  ar- 
rived at  the  stand;  "but  I  shall  start  in 
two  or  three  minutes." 

"  Minutes !  Humph !  Yes,  I  know  what 
an  omnibus  minute  is,"  rephed  Mr.  Haven' t- 
time,  as  he  stopped,  panting,  and  commenced 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 
"The  fellow  heard  and  saw  me;  I  know 
he  did!" 

Just  as  he  said  this,  Mr.  Haven't-time 
saw  the  omnibus  that  had  left  the  stand, 
and  which  was  now  a  few  hundred  yards 
down  the  street,  stop  for  a  passenger. 
Tired,  heated,  and  excited  as  he  was,  the 
foolish  man,  in  the  hope  of  gaining  some 
two  or  three  minutes,  started  forward,  mak- 
ing new  signs  to  the  driver.     He  had  gone 


MR.   HAVN't-TIME    trying    TO    OVERTAKE    THE    OMNIBUS. 
(  y )  Pase  40. 


don't-be-ix-a-hukry.  43 


but  a  few  paces,  however,  before  he  trod 
upon  a  loose  stone,  and  fell  to  the  ground 
with  a  badly  sprained  ankle. 


CHAPTER   YI. 


MR.   HAVEN'T-TIME    RETURNS    TO    PHILADELPHIA 
WITH  A  SPRAINED  ANKLE. 

If  any  of  my  young  readers  have  ever 
been  so  unfortunate  as  to  sprain  an  ankle 
badly,  they  will  be  able  to  form  a  pretty 
clear'  idea  of  Mr.  Haven' t-time's  unhappy 
condition  after  his  fall.  The  pain  of  the 
wrenched  muscles  was,  for  some  moments, 
•  excruciating,  and  he  groaned  aloud  from  ex- 
treme suffering.  So  soon  as  his  first  par- 
oxysm of  severe  pain  subsided,  Mr.  Haven't- 
time  hobbled  back  to  the  omnibus  that  still 
remained  on  the  stand.  Silently,  and  with 
a  subdued  manner,  he  entered  the  veliicle, 
and  took  his  seat.  Scarcely  had  he  done 
so,  .ere  the  driver  mounted  his  box  and 


44  havex't-time  and 


started  on  his  route.  He  was  not  over 
three  minutes,  at  most,  behind  his  prede- 
cessor, and  likely  to  reach  the  Astor  House 
quite  as  early. 

In  his  bhnd  impatience  to  gain  these 
three  minutes,  what  had  Mr.  Haven' t-time 
not  lost?  He  was  in  a  sad  condition  on 
reaching  his  hotel.  Gradually,  from  the 
time  he  entered  the  omnibus,  until,  with 
the  kind  assistance  of  a  gentleman  passen- 
ger, he  descended  therefrom,  the  pain  in 
his  ankle  had  continued  to  increase;  and 
so  dreadfully  severe  was  it  when  he  enter- 
ed his  room,  that  he  actuall}^  fainted  away. 

When  the  friend  came  at  three  o'clock, 
to  drive  him  over  to  Greenv\^ood,  he  found 
Mr.  Haven' t-time  in  a  sad  condition.  The 
physician  called  in  at  the  emergency,  know- 
ing the  value  of  arnica  tincture  in  a  case 
like  this,  had  applied  it  freely  to  the  suf- 
fering part,  and  there  was  a  slight  progres- 
sive abatement  of  the  intense  pain  which 
had  returned  so  soon  as  the  fainting-fit  was 
over;  but  still  the  patient  was  in  an  agony. 


don't-be-in-a-hjrry.  45 


"My  dear  sir,  what  lias  happened?" 
eagerly  inquired  the  friend,  on  seeing  Mr. 
Haven' t-time's  pale,  suffering  face. 

"  More  of  my  ,  u.sual  ili-ruck,"  was  re- 
plied.     "I've   sprained   my   ankle   dread- 

fully." 

And  a  deep  groan  followed  the  sentence. 

"How  in  the  world  did  that  happen?" 
asked  the  friend. 

"It  happened  from  the  stupidity,  if  not 
wilfulness,  of  one  of  your  miserable  omni- 
bus-drivers. 0  dear,  dear,  dear!  How  it 
does  pain  me!  It  is  worse  than  drawing 
a  tooth." 

"  He  didn't  run  over  you,  surely  ?" 

"  Oh  no !  He  ran  away  .from  me,  and  in 
trying  to  overtake  him,  I  stepped  on  a  col> 
ble-stone,  and  thus  sprained  my  ankle.  He 
must  have  seen  me.  I  only  wish  I'd  had 
a  rope  around  his  neck.  He  wouldn't  have 
been  three  seconds  in  stopping  his  horses." 

Yet  the  truth  was,  the  driver  had  not 
seen  Mr.  Haven' t-time,  or  else  he.  would 
have  waited  for  him.     It  was  his  business 

d2 


iQ  hayen't-time  and 


to  get  as  many  passengers  as  possible,  and 
he  n§\^er  thought  it  any  trouble  to  stop  his 
horses  for  that  purj^ose,  or  even  to  wait, 
for  a  slow  walker,  what  the  "insiders"  fre- 
quently thought  an  unreasonable  length 
of  time.  No  man  was  more  impatient  at 
such  delays  than  Mr.  Haven' t-time  himself, 
whenever  he  occupied  a  place  in  an  omni- 
bus. 

No,  the  fault  was  not  in  the  driver.  It 
was  all  in  Mr.  Haven' t-time  himself  And 
now  he  was  suffering  the  consequences  of 
his  own  blind  impatience.  To  gam  three 
minutes,  that  would  have  been  of  no  real 
value  to  him,  he  had  lost  several  days,  or, 
it  might  be,  weeks;  for,  of  all  things,  a 
sprained  ankle  is  one  of  the  slowest  to  re- 
cover. 

"You'll  be  better  in  a  day  or  two,  I 
hope,"  said  the  friend,  trying  to  offer  some 
consolation. 

"A  day  or  two!  0  dear!  If  I'm  able 
to  leave  here  in  a  week,  I'll  be  thankful." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that.     I  shall  bf  greatly 


don't-be-ix-a-hurrt.  47 


disappointed  if  you  are  not  able  to  leave 
for  Niagara  in  two  or  three  days." 

'Tor  Niagara!  Humpli!  No  Niagara 
for  me,  this  year.     That's  all  over." 

And  it  was  so.  A  week  from  the  day 
Mr.  Haven't-time  left  home,  he  returned 
to  Philadelphia,  nDt  yet  able  to  walk,  ex- 
cept by  the  aid  of  a  crutch. 

What  had  he  seen?  What  pleasure  had 
he  tal^en?  Much  of  intelligent  gratifica- 
tion he  had  promised  himself — yet  none 
had  been  received.  Why?  Need  we  an- 
swer the  reader?  Were  not  his  own  im- 
patient temper  and  too  constant  thought  of 
passing  time,  the  cause?  Undoubtedly 
they  were.  These,  for  him,  marred  every 
thing.  But,  leaving  Mr.  Haven't-time  for 
the  present,  I  will  introduce  my  readers 
more  particularly,  in  the  next  chapter, 
to  my  other  neighbour,  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry. 


48  haven't-time  and 


CHAPTER  yn. 

ABOUT  MR.  DON'T-BE-IN-A-HURRY. 

As  I  said,  in  a  previous  chapter,  my 
neiglibour,  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  also 
took  a  little  pleasure-jaunt  to  himself  last 
summer.  This  jaunt  had  been  for  some 
months  in  contemplation,  and  much  enjoy- 
ment was  expected  therefrom.  He  and 
Mr.  Haven' t-time  were  intimately  acquaint- 
ed, and  often  spent  a  social  evening  together. 
They  frequently  spoke  of  their  anticipated 
summer  tour;  and  long  before  the  time  of 
starting  came,  had  agreed  to  leave  home  on 
the  same  day,  and  to  visit  Niagara  together. 

Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  thought  that  the 
second  week  m  August  would  be  quite 
early  enough  to  start;  but  his  neighbour, 
always  inclined  to  take  old  Time,  as  they 
say,  by  the  forelock,  wished  to  leave  home 
at  least  by  the  middle  of  July. 

"Too  soon  by  several  weeks,  my  good 


dox't-be-ix-a-hurry.  49 


friend/'  objected  31r.  Don't-be-in-a-liurry. 
'^I  wouldn't  think  of  going  before  the  se- 
cond week  in  August." 

"The  second  week  in  August!"  exclaim- 
ed Mr.  Haven' t-time.  "0  dear!  I  must 
be  home  ere  that.  And,  besides,  the  earlier 
we  go  the  better.  Later  in  the  season, 
everybody  is  crowding  the  fashionable 
places  of  resort,  destroying,  to  quiet  bodies 
like  you  and  I,  all  comfort.  Let  us  be  wise, 
and  take  our  pleasure  when  most  is  to  be 
obtained." 

But  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  start  so  early  as  the  middle 
of  July.  He  had  quite  as  many  arguments 
against,  as  his  friend  had  in  favour,  of  that 
time.  So,  after  many  conferences  on  the 
subject,  it  was  finally  agreed  between  the 
parties,  that  they  should  start  together  on 
the  first  of  August. 

"Did  they  start  together?"  asks  a  young 
reader.  "You  said  nothing  of  Mr.  Don't- 
be-in-a-hurry  as  the  companion  of  Mr. 
Haven't-time." 


60 


Wait  a  little  while,  and  you  shall  see. 

Well,  summer  progressed  to  the  middle 
of  July,  and  still  it  was  understood  that  the 
two  gentlemen  should  leave  home,  in  com- 
pany, for  the  contemplated  tour,  on  the 
first  of  August. 

The  last  week  in  July  was  at  length  at 
hand.  In  six  or  seven  days  more,  the 
looked-for  period  would  arrive. 

"Next  Monday  we  are  to  start,"  said 
Mr.  Haven't-time,  on  meeting  Mr.  Don't- 
be-in-a-hurry  a  week  previous  to  the  first 
day  of  August. 

"Next  Monday!  You  are  a  little  ahead 
of  time,  are  you  not?"  was  the  cool,  almost 
indifferent  answer  of  the  impassive  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-arhurry. 

"Ahead  of  time!  Why  don't  you  know 
that  next  Monday  is  the  first  day  of  Au- 
gust?" Mr.  Haven't-time  spoke  in  a  i^uick, 
disturbed  manner. 

"The  first  day,  is  it?"  How  marked 
was  the  contrast  between  the  two  men's 
states  of  feelnig.     Mr.  Don'1>be-in-a'-hurry 


dox't-be-ix-a-hurry.  51 


was  as  placid  as  the  surface  of  a  mountain 
lake. 

"Certainly  it  is  the  first  day — the  day 
on  which  it  has  long  been  understood  that 
we  were  to  leave  for  our  trip  to  Niagara." . 

"I  did  not  understand,"  replied  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  "that  we  were  to  leave 
on  the  very  first  day." 

" Pray  wt at  then  did. you  understand?" 
asked  Mr.  Haven' t-time,  a  good  deal  irri- 
tated.    "  Doesn't  the  first  mean  the  first  f 

"Oh  certainly.  But  when  we  speak  of 
the  first  of  a  coming  month,  we  generally 
mean  the  early  portion  of  it:  do  we  not?" 

"I  don't,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"Well,  I  do,  my  good  friend  Haven' t- 
time,"  smilingly  answered  the  undisturbed 
Mr.  ; Don't-be-in-a-hurry.  "The  first  of 
August,  in  the  present  case,  I  understood 
to  mean  the  first  few  days  after  the  going 
out  of  July.  To  start  on  the  very  first  day, 
whether  it  were  Saturday,  Sunday,  or  Mon- 
day, never  entered  into  my  calculation. 
Now.  don't  you  see,  that  to  leave  on  Mon- 


HAYEX  T-TIME   AND 


day  would  be  to  interfere  very  materially 
with  the  domestic  arrangements  of  our 
families?" 

"How  so,  pray?"  asked  Mr.  Haven't- 
time. 

"  Monday  is  the  regular  washing-day." 

"Well;  what  of  that?" 

"Ask  your  good  wife,  and  she  will  an- 
swer the  question  more  to  ypur  satisfac- 
tion, I  imagine,  than  I  can." 

"You  mean,  I  suppose,  that  your  clothes 
would  not  be  ready  for  you  on  the  first  day 
of  the  week?" 

"Just  what  I  mean.  Our  washmg  is 
done  on  Monday,  and  our  ironing  on  Tues- 
day. Not  until  Wednesday  could  I  possi- 
bly get  ready  to  go.  When  I  agreed  to 
leave  with  you  on  the  first  of  August,  I 
never,  for  a  moment,  thought  of  disregard- 
mg  every  domestic  arrangement  in  order  to 
hurry  ofi"  on  the  very  day,  as  if  life  or  death 
depended  on  the  act.  We  are  going  for 
pleasure.  Let  us  start  fairl}^,  calmly,  and 
wiselv.     If  we  do  not.  we  had  better  re- 


53 


main  at  home — for  no  true  pleasure  will 
we  find  abroad.  If  we  start  on  Monday,  it 
will  be  at  tbe  expense  of  household  com- 
fort. Friday  and  Saturday  have  their  ap- 
propriate duties  for  our  wives  and  domes- 
tics j  if,  to  these,  we  add  the  extra  burdens 
of  washing  and  ironing,  in  order  to  have 
our  clothes  ready  by  Monday  morning,  we 
shall  produce  a  state  of  disorder  that  will 
mar  the  parting  hour.  I  know  it;  I've 
seen  it,  Mr.  Haven't-time." 

'^All  very  good  talk,"  was  rejoined. 
"But  I  don't  see  any  great  hardship  in 
what  you  mention.  It  isn't  often  that  I 
take  a  week's  relaxation  from  business,  and 
it  would  be  a  pity  if  my  wife  and  domes- 
tics were  to  regard  a  little  extra  trouble, 
once  a  year,  in  order  that  I  might  get  away 
at  an  appointed  time,  as  a  heavy  burden — 
a  great  tax  upon  their  comfort." 

"All  deviations  from  the  usual  order  in 
families,  or  in  business,  produce  greater  or 
less  disturbance — and  these  rarely  come 
without  creating  discomfort.     As  for  me,  I 

Y._4  V.-E 


54  haven't-time  and 


would  a  thousand  times  rather  wait  until 
Wednesday,  when  all  things  necessary  for 
my  journey  will,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  be  ready,  and  when  I  can  start  from 
home  without  leaving  my  wife  excited  and 
overwearied  by  extra  exertions." 

"  Then  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Haven't- 
time,  "that  you  will  not  start  on  Monday?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"When  will  you  be  ready  to  start?" 

"On  Wednesday." 

"I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go  on  Mon- 
day, and  when  my  mind  is  once  made  up 
to  do  a  thing,  I  never  like  to  be  balked." 

"Come,  come,  my  good  friend  Haven't- 
time,"  said  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  gpod- 
humouredly,  "this  is  being  over-particular 
— more  nice  than  wise,  as  the  proverb  says. 
Even  for  you,  Wednesday  will  be  far  the 
best  time  for  leaving  home.  Ask  Mrs. 
Haven' t-time  her  opinion  of  the  matter,  and 
see  if  she  doesn't  agree  with  me  entirely." 

"No  doubt  of  that — no  doubt  of  that; 
women  are  always" 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  55 


Mr.  Haveii'1>time  checked  himself,  leav^ 
ing  the  sentence  unfinished. 

"  You'll  wait  until  Wednesday,  of  course/' 
said  Mr.  Don't-be-in-in-a-hurrj. 

"I  don't  know.  I'll  think  about  it,"  was 
replied,  in  a  moody  tone. 

And  so  the  two  men  parted. 

On  the  day  following,  they  met  and 
again  talked  the  matter  over.  As  Mr. 
Don'lrbe-in-a-hurry  wouldn't  hear  to  start- 
ing on  Monday,  the  other  reluctantly  con- 
sented to  wait  for  his  good  company  until 
"Wednesday.  This,  however,  was  not  done 
with  the  best  grace  in  the  world. 

"  111  go  on  Wednesday,  mind,"  said  the 
latter,  "even  if  it  rains  pitchforks." 


f^  haven't-time  and 


CHAPTER   Vin. 
A  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

A  TTEEK  passed  swiftly  away,  Mr.  Don't- 
be-in-a-liurry  scarcely  giving  a  thought  to 
needful  preparation  in  view  of  his  journey. 
There  would  be  time  enough  for  that  on 
Monday  and  Tuesday,  he  thought  within 
himself. 

'^Do  you  mean  to  start  on  Wednesday?'* 
asked  his  wife,  as  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry 
was  preparing  to  go  out  on  Saturday  morn- 
ing. 

"Yes.  I  shall  leave  on  Wednesday," 
was  replied. 

"Are  those  your  best  boots?"  and  his 
wife  glanced  down  at  his  feet. 

"They  are." 

"You'd  better  order  new  ones,  then." 

"I'll  see  my  boot-maker  as  I  go  to  the 
etore,"  returned  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry, 
*'  and  tell  him  to  make  me  another  pair." 


don't-be-in-a-hurrt.  57 


This  was  his  intention  when  he  left 
home.  But,  as  the  hoot-maker  did  not 
live  directly  on  his  way  to  his  place  of  hu- 
siness,  he  concluded,  as  he  walked  along, 
that  it  would  he  time  enough  to  call  there 
as  he  came  home  at  dinner-time.  He  was 
in  no  particular  hurry,  that  he  thus  put  off 
until  another  time  what  needed  to  be  done 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment;  but  acted 
merely  from  a  bad  habit  of  procrasti- 
nation. 

"Did  you  order  a  new  pair  of  boots?" 
asked  his  wife,  on  his  return  at  dinner-time. 
She  knew  his  failing,  and  was,  therefore, 
watchful  over  him  at  times. 

"I  declare!  No:  I  forgot  all  about  it," 
replied  Mr.  Don't-be-in-arhurry. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  be  disappointed,"  said 
his  wife,  "if  you  expect  to  get  them  by 
Wednesday.  Remember,  only  Monday  and 
Tuesday  intervene  after  this  week." 

"I  know.  But  I'll  stop  as  I  go  back 
from  dinner,  and  explain  to  Barker  the  ne- 
cessity of  having  them  done  by  Tuesday 


b2 


68  haven't-time  and 


night.  He'll  get  them  done  for  me  without 
doubt.     I'm  an  old  and  good  customer." 

"  Ten  to  one,"  replied  his  wife,  smiling, 
"that  you  never  think  about  your  boots 
again,  until  I  remind  you  of  them  at  sup- 
per-time this  evening." 

Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  was  quite  amus- 
ed at  this  remark,  and  laughed  at  it  hearti- 
ly. He  was,  like  most  persons  of  his  pe- 
culiar character,  too  little  conscious  of  his 
leading  defect. 

"About  the  boots?"  said  Mrs.  Don't-be-in- 
a-hurry,  as  they  sat  down  at  tea  in  the 
evening. 

"I  declare!"  and  her  husband  fairly 
started  to  his  feet. 

"Didn't  get  measured?" 

"No.  I  forgot  all  about  them.  "How 
stupid  of  me !" 

"I  thought  it  would  be  so,"  was  replied. 
"You'll  not  get  off  on  Wednesday." 

"Won't  I?  You'll  see.  After  supper, 
ril  go  down  and  see  Barker." 

"Are  you  going  to  order  those  boots?" 


59 


inquired  Mrs.  Don't-be-in-arliurry  of  her 
husband,  as  she  saw  him  seated  cozily  in 
his  large  cushioned  chair,  with  a  new  book 
in  his  hand. 

"  Not  this  evening  ?"  was  replied.  "  Since 
I  thought  it  over,  I  see  no  use  in  walking 
away  down  there  to-night.  To-morrow  is 
Sunday;  and  nothing  will,  of  course,  be 
gained.  I'll  see  Barker  the  first  thing  on 
Monday  morning?" 

His  wife  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"Why  do  you  smile  and  shake  your 
head,  my  dear?  Don't  you  see,  as  well  as 
I  do,  that  nothing  could  be  done  on  the 
boots  to-night?  Why,  then,  should  I  far 
tigue  myself  with  walking  a  dozen  squares 
or  so,  to  do  what  can  just  as  well  be  done 
on  Monday  morning?" 

No  reply  was  made  to  this,  and  the  gen- 
tleman resumed  his  book. 

On  Monday  morning,  Mr.  Don't-be-in-ar 
hurry  forgot  to  call  at  the  boot-maker's  on 
his  way  to  his  store.     At  ten  o'clock  he 


60  haven't-time  and 


thouglit  of  the  omission,  and  started  off 
forthwith  to  see  Mr.  Barker. 

"How  soon  can  ycu  have  them  ready?" 
he  asked,  after  the  measure  of  his  foot  had 
been  taken. 

"I  will  send  them  home  on  Saturday 
night,"  was  answered. 

"Saturday  night!  I  must  have  them 
on  Tuesday  night." 

"To-morrow  night?" 

"  Yes.  On  Wednesday  morning  I  am  to 
leave  the  city." 

"  Impossible,"  said  the  boot-maker. 

"Don't  say  that.     I  must  have  them." 

"Why  did  not  you  call  in  last  week?" 
asked  Mr.  Barker. 

"I  did  intend  calling  in  on  Saturday; 
but  forgot  to  do  so.  I'm  sure,  however,  if 
you  strain  a  point,  you  can  get  the  boots 
ready  for  me.  I  would  put  off  going  until 
Thursday,  but  I'm  to  leave  in  company 
with  Mr.  Haven't-time,  and  when  he  sets 
a  day  on  which  to  do  a  thing,  he  will  go 
through  fire  and  water  but  it  is  done." 


dox't-be-in-a-hurry.  61 


"  I  made  Mr.  Haven' t-time  a  pair  of  boots 
last  week.  I  sent  them  home  on  Thursday. 
He  mentioned  that  he  was  going  away  at 
an  early  date,"  said  Barker  in  answer  to 
this.  "  He's  always  a  little  beforehand  in 
making  his  orders." 

After  some  persuasion  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  the  boot-maker 
agreed  to  use  his  best  exertions  in  behalf 
of  his  customer.  Satisfied  with  this  pro- 
mise, our  friend  gave  himself  no  further 
trouble  on  the  subject. 

On  Tuesday,  it  was  discovered  that  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry's  overcoat — it  is  not  pru- 
dent to  leave  home  even  in  summer-time 
without  an  overcoat — had  in  it  a  serious 
rent  that  must  be  repaired. 

"  I  will  direct  my  tailor  to  send  for  it," 
said  he,  as  his  wife  called  his  attention  to 
it  at  dinner-time. 

"Your  tailor  has  forgotten  to  send  for 
that  coat."  These  were  the  wife's  first 
words  on  his  entrance  at  tea-time. 

"I    declare!"     Mr.    Don'trbe-in-a-hurry 


62  haven't-time  axd 


struck  his  hands  together,  looking,  at  the 
same  time,  rather  blank. 

"You  forgot  to  see  hhn,  I  suppose?" 

"  It's  a  fact.  How  could  I  have  been  so 
absent-minded !" 

"  You  can't  take  the  coat  with  you  as  it 
is,"  said  the  wife.  * 

A  bright  thought  struck  Mr.  Don't-be-in- 
a-hurry  at  the  moment.  •  He  was  good  at 
expedients. 

"As  I  shall  remain  in  New  York  two  or 
three  days,"  he  replied,  "I  can  get  the 
coat  mended  while  there.  I  won't  need  it 
on  the  way." 

To  this  his  wife  saw  fit  to  make  no  ob- 
jection. It  was  the  best  that  could  now 
be  done.  So  that  hinderance  to  the  morn- 
ing's journey  was  removed. 

"Have  my  boots  come. home  yet?"  asked 
Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  suddenly  recollect- 
ing these  important  articles,  as  he  sat  read- 
ing, about  nine  o  clock  in  the  evening. 

"I've  seen  nothing  of  them,"  replied  his 
wife.     As  she  spoke,  she  arose  and  rang 


D0^^  T-LErlX-A-HURRY.  63 


the  bell  On  the  appearance  of  a  domestic, 
she  inquired  if  a  pair  of  boots  had  been 
sent  home  for  her  husband.  The  answer 
was  in  the  negative. 

"  I  hardly  expected  them  to-night,"  said 
the  quiet-minded  gentleman.  "No  doubt 
they  will  come  along  bright  and  early  in 
the  morning."  And  he  resumed  the  reading 
of  his  book. 

"I  wouldn't  trouble  myself  with  that  to- 
night," he  remarked  to  his  wife,  about  ten 
o'clock,  seeing  her  about  commencing  to 
pack  his  trunk.  "There  will  be  time 
enough  in  the  morning." 

"  I'd  rather  have  it  off  my  mind,"  was  an- 
swered. "  There'll  be  enough  for  me  to  do 
in  the  morning,  without  having  this  into  the 
bargain.  Never  put  off  until  to-morrow 
what  can  be  done  to-day — that  is  my 
motto,  you  know." 

"  And  a  very  good  one  it  is,"  responded 
the  husband.  "  Still,  if  to-day's  work  is  too 
heavy,  I  do  not  see  why  a  portion  of  it 
mav  not  be  set  aside  for  to-morrow." 


64  haven't-time  and 


He  was  an  apt  reasoner — ^never  with- 
out an  argument  to  favour  his  inclin- 
ings. 

"  Have  you  ordered  a  carriage  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Don't-be-in-arhurry,  looking  up  from 
her  work  of  packing  her  husband's  trunk. 

"  No — I  forgot  all  about  that.  But  there 
will  be  time  enough  in  the  morning. 
The  line  doesn't  start,  you  know,  until  nine 
o'clock." 

Morning  came. 

"Have  my  boots  been  sent  home  yet?" 
was  the  natural  question  of  Mr.  Don't-be- 
in-a-hurry,  as  he  came  down  to  breakfast 
at  seven  o'clock.     Early  for  him. 

The  rejDly  was  a  negative. 

"  They'll  be  along  in  time,  no  doubt." 
And  he  took  his  place  at  the  table,  undis- 
turbed m  feeling. 

"  No  boots  yet !"  said  he,  half  an  hour 
afterward,  a  little  uneasily. 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  be  disappointed,"  re- 
marked his  wife. 

''  Barker  is  a  man  of  his  word.     The 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  65 


boots  will  be  along,  I  am  certain.  In  the 
mean  time  I'll  go  for  a  carriage." 

So  off  he  started  for  the  stable  of  a  man 
who  lived  close  by.  But  the  man,  in  no 
expectation  of  such  a  visit,  had  left  for  his 
stand  in  Seventh  street  half  an  hour  be- 
fore. 

"  How  annoying !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Don't- 
be-in-a-hurry,  now  considerably  fretted  in 
his  mind. 

There  w^as  no  remedy  but  to  walk  over 
a  mile  to  one  of  the  regular  carriage-stands. 
So,  off  he  started — going  rapidly.  In  due 
time  the  stand  was  gained,  and  a  car- 
riage engaged.  In  this  our  friend  drove 
back  to  his  dwelling,  feeling  still  a  good 
deal  disturbed.  He  began  to  have  pretty 
serious  fears  in  regard  to  the  boots.  Not 
that  he  was  so  over-anxious  to  get  aw^ay 
on  his  own  account.  He  thought  more  of 
Mr.  Haven' t-time,  who  had  delayed  since 
Monday,  in  order  that  they  might  go  in 
company.    To  fail  meeting  him  at  the  boat, 


y.—h" 


66  hayex't-time  and 


as  he  liad  promised^  was  by  no  means  plea 
sant  to  tliink  about. 

His  fears  were  not  idle.  On  arriving 
with  the  carriage,  the  boots  were  still 
absent. 

It's  not  half-past  eight.  They'll  be  along 
yet;  I  am  sure/'  said  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry,  as  he  walked  restlessly  about  his 
parlour.  He  was  disturbed  for  once  in  his 
life.  "  K  it  wasn't  for  Mr.  Haven' t-time,  I 
would  not  care  a  fig.  But  he'll  be  so  dis- 
appointed." 

No  matter  as  to  consequences,  the  boots 
did  not  come.  And,  as  the  old  pair 
were  broken  out  at  the  sides,  they  were 
unfit  for  genteel  service.  So,  at  a  quarter 
to  nine  o'clock,  the  driver  was  paid  and 
dismissed.  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  was 
compelled  to  wait  another  day.  But  Mr. 
Haven' t-time  went  on  his  way  alone,  as  the 
reader  is  aware. 


MR.  DON  T-BE-IN-A -HURRY    LOSES    HIS    TRUNK. 
(  5  )  Page  69. 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  69 


CHAPTER    IX. 
STARTS  FOR  NEW  YORK. 

DuRixG  the  day,  the  new  boots  came 
home,  and  on  the  next  morning  Mr.  Don't- 
be-in-a-hury  started  for  New  York;  not, 
however,  without  a  narrow  risk  of  being 
left  behind  by  the  steamboat,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  faihng  to  be  ready  to  start 
when  the  hack-driver  called  for  him.  The 
gangly  ay  plank  had  been  withdrawn  when 
he  reached  the  wharf  A  vigorous  spring 
enabled  him  to  reach  the  deck  of  the  boat. 
But  his  trunk  remained  in  the  hands  of 
the  porter  who  had  taken  it  from  behind 
the  carriage. 

"  Throw  the  trunk  on  board,"  he  cried, 
eagerly,  to  the  porter. 

But  the  man  stood  immovable,  while  the 
Doat,  the  engine  having  been  set  in  motion, 
started  quickly  ahead. 

It  was  all  in  vain.      Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 


70 


hurry  was  on  liis  way  to  New  York — but 
his  wardrobe  was  behind  him.  On  giving 
information  to  the  captain,  that  personage 
very  politely  offered  to  look  after  the  trunk 
when  the  boat  returned,  and  see  that  it 
was  forwarded  to  New  York  by  the  after- 
noon train. 

About  as  easy  in  mind  as  a  man  well 
could  be  under  the  circumstances,  Mr^ 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry  pursued  his  way  to  New 
York.  He  tried  not  to  think  about  the 
trunk ;  but  his  thoughts  would  turn,  every 
little  while,  to  the  scene  on  the  wharf  at  the 
time  the  steamboat  started;  and,  in  spite 
of  all  his  philosophy,  he  felt  troubled. 
What  was  there,  he  asked  himself,  to  pre- 
vent the  porter,  who  had  possession  of  his 
trunk,  from  stealing  it? 

This  was  our  friend's  state  of  mind  when 
he  arrived  at  New  York.  After  he  had 
taken  dinner,  he  thought  he  would  go  to 
the  telegraph-office  and  ask  some  acquaint- 
ance in  Philadelphia  to  make  inquiry  for 
his  trunk;  and,  if  found,  to  s>?nd  it  on  by 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  n 


tlie  five  o'clock  train  of  cars.  He  deferred 
this^  however,  on  the  ground  that,  as  the 
steamboat  captain  would  attend  to  the 
matter  for  him,  there  would  be  no  use  in 
troubling  a  third  person. 

During  the  afternoon  of  this  first  day  in 
New  York,  it  had  been  the  purpose  of  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-hurry  to  visit  one  or  two  places 
of  note.  But  the  uncertainty  in  regard  to 
his  Irunk  so  disturbed  his  mind  that  all 
interest  therein  was,  for  the  time,  destroyed. 
So  he  moped  about  the  reading-room  and 
parlours  of  the  hotel  until  supper-time. 
After  supper,  he  thought  of  going  to  some 
place  of  amusement  or  noted  exhibition  5 
but  the  trouble  about  his  trunk  still  op- 
pressed him. 

"0  dear!"  he  sighed  to  himself.  "I 
wish,  now,  that  I  had  telegraphed  to  Phila- 
delphia about  the  trunk.  I  would,  at  least, 
have  had  a  certainty  to  depend  upon.  I 
would  have  known  whether  it  had  been 
found  or  not.  As  it  is,  all  will  be  suspense 
until  ten  o'clock  to-niffht.    And  then" 


Y.— 5  12 


72  haven't-time  and 


Poor  man.  "  And  then  ?"  There  were 
questions^  now,  in  his  mind,  as  to  whether 
the  captain  of  the  boat  had  thought  about 
his  trunk.  If  not,  the  probability  of  its  com- 
ing in  the  next  train  was  but  small. 

"  How  foolish  in  me  not  to  have  sent  a 
telegraphic  despatch  on  the  moment  of  my 
arrival  in  New  York !  That  was  the  only 
sensible  thing  to  do.  Instead,  however,  I 
have  been  waiting,  and  worrying  myself, 
for  hours,  when,  in  ten  minutes,  the  fullest 
information  might  have  been  obtained.  I 
am  so  vexed  with  myself!  I  deserve  to 
lose  my  trunk." 

In  this  micomfortable  state  of  mind,  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-arhurry,  passed  the  hours  until 
the  arrival  of  the  night-train  from  Phila- 
delphia. Long  before  it  came  in,  he  was 
at  the  ferry-house,  on  the  look-out  for  the 
boat  in  which  the  passengers  are  conveyed 
from  Jersey  City  to  New  York.  "When  at 
length  the  boat  touched  the  wharf,  which 
was  a  little  after  ten  o'clock,  there  having 
been  some  detention  on  the  way,  he  sprang 


dox't-be-in-a-hurry.  73 


on  board,  and  made  inquiry  for  the  baggage- 
master.  But,  from  him  he  could  gain  no 
intelligence  of  the  missing  trunk.  The 
crates  were  all  looked  into,  the  trunks  on 
the  deck  examined,  and  every  means  used 
to  ascertain  if  his  baggage  had  come  on. 
It  was  not  to  be  found. 

Back  to  his  hotel  returned  Mr.  Don't-be- 
in-a-hurry,  his  heart  heavy  with  disappoint- 
ment. 

"All  my  o^vn  fault,"  said  he  to  himself 
How  little  is  there  in  this  reflection  to  give 
pleasure  to  any  one! 

Yes,  it  was  all  his  own  fault.  He  should 
have  been  ready  to  leave  at  half-past  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the  hack- 
driver  called  for  him.  There  had  been  no 
hinderance  in  the  way  beyond  his  own 
dilatory  habit.  "There's  time  enough." 
This  was  his  answer  when  his  wife  urged 
him,  for  the  tenth  time,  to  complete  his 
latest  preparations  for  his  journe}^ 

Of  all  this,  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  was 


74  haven't-time  and 


now  distinctly  consciouSj  and  it  added  no 
little  to  his  unhappy  feelings. 

On  the  next  morning,  bright  and  early, 
he  posted  off  for  the  telegraph-office.  A 
message  was  sent  to  one  of  his  clerks  in 
Philadelphia,  who  was  directed  to  go  to  the 
railroad-office  at  Walnut-street  wharf  and 
see  if  he  could  find  the  missing  trunk.  In 
half  an  hour  word  came  back  that  the  clerk 
had  received  the  message,  and  would  forth- 
with do  as  requested.  A  whole  hour  pass- 
ed— then  came  this  despatch : — 

"Trunk  found.  Will  send  it  by  five- 
o'clock  line." 

Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  breathed  freely 
again.  But  how  much  vexation  of  mind 
and  uneasiness  had  his  want  of  promptness 
in  action  cost  him !  And  not  only  this, 
there  was  a  loss  of  positive  enjoyment 
which  he  would  have  derived  from  visit-- 
ing  certain  attractive  places  during  the 
afternoon  of  the  previous  day.  Nor  did 
the  presence  of  all  this  in  his  mind  add  to 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  75 


his  present  ability  to  enjoy  what  was  around 
him. 

Like  Mr.  Haven' t-time,  he  had  a  parti- 
cular friend  in  New  York,  from  whose  good 
offices  in  showing  him  about  the  city  ho 
had  expected  much.  He  could  not  call 
upon  this  friend  without  accepting  an  invi- 
tation to  dine  with  him;  and  so,  as  from 
the  absence  of  his  trunk  he  was  not  able  to 
change  his  clothing,  some  portions  of  which 
were  considerably  soiled,  he  felt  compelled 
to  wait  until  the  next  day,  before  giving 
himself  this  pleasure. 

So  he  went  back  to  his  hotel,  and  taking 
a  seat  in  the  reading-room,  set  to  thinking 
about  what  he  should  do  with  himself  for 
the  day.  A  glance  in  a  mirror  opposite 
did  not  show  him  a  man  who  looked  as  if 
just  out  of  a  bandbox.  By  no  means  flat- 
tered by  his  personal  appearance,  Mr. 
Don  t-be-in-a-hurry  at  once  decided  not  to 
show  himself  for  that  day,  in  places  of  such 
fashionable  resort  as  the  Art  Galleries. 
One  of  these,  in  particular,  he  had  promis- 


76  haven' T-TIME  AND 


ed  himself  great  pleasure  in  visiting.  So, 
after  a  while,  he  strayed  down  Broadway 
as  far  as  the  Battery,  where  he  remained 
looking  at  the  shipping  in  the  bay  until 
dinner-time;  although  he  had  only  intend- 
ed to  remain  there  an  hour.  The  afternoon 
was  spent  in  idhng  about  the  hotel,  and 
the  evening  in  waiting  for  the  cars  to  arrive 
from  Philadelphia.  Greatly  to  his  relief 
of  mind,  the  trunk  was  received. 

Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry's  adventures  while 
in  New  York  will  be  detailed  in  the  next 
chapters. 


CHAPTER  X. 
MR.  DON'T-BE-IN-A-HURRY  IN  NEW  YORK. 

On  the  morning  following,  Mr.  Don't-be- 
in-a-hurry  was  slightly  indisposed.  For  a 
man  of  his  temperament  and  habits  of  mind, 
the  anxiety  and  excitement  of  the  two  pre- 
vious days  were  too  severe.  He  found  him- 
self feverish,  and  with  a  disturbed  nervous 


^'^^^^^  \   iilliV 


MR.   DON  T-BE-IN-A-HURRY    OX    THE    BATTERY. 
(  6  )  Pa?e  76. 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  79 


system.  He  suffered^  also,  from  a  low,  dull, 
stupefying  headache. 

After  taking  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  eating 
a  light  breakfast,  he  felt  a  little  better. 
The  headache  subsided;  but  he  was  still 
feverish  and  nervous. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  my  self  to-day  ?" 

This  was  a  very  natural  question.  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry's  visit  to  New  York  was 
one  of  pleasure  and  recreation,  not  business. 
He  had  been  in  the  city  a  day  and  a-half 
without  seeing  aiiy  thing  that  he  particular- 
ly cared  to  see ;  and  now  it  behooved  him 
to  make  good  use  of  the  time  that  remain- 
ed. He  had  meant  to  spend  four  or  ^Ye 
days  in  New  York — that  is,  in  leaving  home 
on  Wednesday,  as  at  first  proposed,  his  in- 
tention was  to  stay  the  remamder  of  the 
week  in  the  city,  and  leave  for  Niagara  on 
Monday  morning. 

As  the  reader  has  seen,  our  traveller 
failed  to  get  away  from  home  on  Wednes- 
day, in  consequence  of  want  of  proper  fore* 
thought.     Thursdaj'  and  Friday  were  lost^ 


80  haven't-time  and 


from  tlie  same  cause.  He  was  not  ready 
to  leave  when  the  carriage  came  for  him, 
and  he  got  so  late  to  the  boat  that  his  bag- 
gage failed  to  be  passed  aboard.  A  prompt 
telegraphic  despatch,  on  his  arrival  in  New 
York,  would  have  brought  on  the  trunk  by 
the  evening  tram.  Yielding  to  his  defect 
of  character,  he  failed  to  do  this;  and  so 
had  to  wait  all  of  Friday  before  receiving  it. 
Only  Saturday  remained  for  sight-seeing 
in  New  York;  and  unfortunately  for  our 
friend,  his  state  both  of  body  and  mind  were 
such,  that  he  felt  little  interest  in  any  thing 
around  him.  Still,  the  question,  "What 
shall  I  do  with  myself  to-day?"  came  up 
naturally.  A  certain  amount  of  curiosity — 
whether  active  or  passive — was  to  be  grati- 
fied, of  course.  For  what  else  had  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry  come  to  New  York? 
He  decided,  after  turning  the  matter  over 
in  his  mind  briefly,  to  call  at  once  upon 
his  friend,  whose  name  was  Jenkins.  A 
cordial  greeting  took  place  when  they  met, 
and  then  they  sat  down  to  have  a  cozy  chat 


DOxNr'T>BE-IN-A-HURRY.  81 


togetlier  about  old  times,  new  times,  and 
matters  and  things  in  general. 

"How  much  I  regret  not  having  seen 
you  A^esterday  morning !"  said  Mr.  Jenkins, 
breaking  in  upon  a  pause  in  their  conver- 
sation. "  We  had  a  dinner  on  board  of  one 
of  the  new  Liverpool  steamers,  and  a  sail 
outside  the  harbour.  I  had  two  invitations. 
What  a  treat  it  would  have  been  for  you ! 
Oh,  we  had  a  delightful  time." 

'^Of  all  things  in  the  world  I  should 
have  enjoyed  such  a  trip,"  returned  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  a  change  in  his  counte- 
nance showing  how  he  felt  for  the  loss  of  a 
now  clearly  imagined  pleasure. 

"Have  you  ever  been  aboard  of  one  of 
our  large  ocean-steamers?"  asked  Mr.  Jen- 
kins. 

"Never,"  was  replied.  "Though  I  al- 
ways had  a  desire  that  way.  During  my 
present  visit  here,  I  purpose  gratifying  that 
desire." 

"Unfortunately,"  remarked  Mr.  Jenkins, 
drawing  out  his  watch,  and  looking  at  the 


T.— G 


82  eavex't-time  axd 


time,  ^'  tlie  steamer  of  which  I  spoke  sails 
at  twelve  o'clock  to-daj^,  and  it  is  now  near« 
ly  eleven.  Of  course,  even  if  you  could 
get  on  board,  there  would  be  no  time  for 
examination." 

"When  do  you  expect  the  next  one  to 
arrive?" 

"Not  for  several  days/'  replied  Mr. 
Jenkins. 

"I'm  rather  unlucky  in  this.  But,  on 
my  return  from  Niagara,  there  will  proba- 
bly be  a  steamer  in  port  3  then  I  can  gratify 
m}"  curiosity." 

The  subject  of  conversation  was  then 
changed,  and  the  two  got  into  a  discussion 
on  some  question  of  politics,  which  so  ab- 
sorbed ]Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry's  thoughts 
that  he  forgot  every  thmg  else,  and  talked 
with  his  friend  for  more  than  two  hours. 

"  Bless  me,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jenkins,  at 
length,  drawing  out  and  looking  at  his 
watch,  "  it  is  after  one  o'clock,  and  I've 
considerable  bank  business  yet  to  attend  to. 
Pray  excuse   me   now.      I  shall  be  most 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  83 


hap23y  to  see  you  this  afternoon.    You  will 
dine  with  me  to-morrow,  of  course." 

"  So  late  as  one  o'clock !  I  didn't  think  it 
was  twelve.  How  rapidly  the  hours  glide 
away !"  said  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  starting 
to  his  feet.  He  promised  to  call  on  Mr.  Jen- 
kins again,  during  the  afternoon.  "  Come  in 
before  five  o'clock,"  said  the  latter.  "  I  have 
a  business  engagement  at  that  hour,  which 
cannot  be  postponed." 

'^  You  will  see  me  at  some  time  between 
four  and  ^yq,''  replied  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurrj^,  as  he  bowed  and  took  his  departure. 
The  interest  felt  in  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion had  caused  him  to  forget  his  bodily 
sensations.  But,  excitement  of  mind,  and 
the  consequent  more  rapid  circulation  of 
blood  through  his  veins,  added  to  instead  of 
decreasing  the  feverish  state  of  his  system. 
He  was,  in  reality,  not  so  well  as  when, 
some  two  hours  before,  he  called  upon  his 
friend  Jenkins;  and  of  this  he  became  too 
feelingly  aware  soon  after  leaving  him. 
Excitement  of  mind,  when  a  slight  indispo- 


84  haven't-time  and 


sition  exists,  is  quite  as  injurious  as  over- 
exertion of  body.  Moderate  exercise  in  the 
open  air,  and  the  visiting  of  one  or  two 
points  of  interest,  would  not  have  been  de- 
trimental; but  the  excitement  of  a  long 
political  discussion,  in  which  the  two  men 
took  opposite  sides,  greatly  disturbed  the 
brain  of  our  friend,  and  this  sent  the  dis- 
turbance along  the  nervous  fibres  to  every 
j)art  of  the  body. 

Thus,  two  hours  and  more  of  time  set 
apart  for  another  purpose  were  wasted  in 
profitless  talk — and  not  onlj'  this,  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry  was  unfitted,  thereby, 
to  enjoy  the  period  that  intervened  before 
the  dinner-hour. 

On  his  wav  back  to  the  hotel,  whither  a 
now  stunning  headache  compelled  him  to 
repair,  he  passed  the  room  m  which  Leutze's 
celebrated  picture  of  Washington  crossing 
the  Delaware  was  exhibited.  Of  this  work 
of  art  he  had  heard  and  read  much,  and 
particularly  desired  to  see  it. 

"  Won't  you  tell  us  something  about  this 


DON*T-BE-IN-A-nURKY.  85 


picture  of  Waslilngton  ?"  asks  a  young 
reader.  Yes,  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure. 
First,  liowever,  let  me  refresh  jour  memo- 
ries, if  that  need  be,  touching  the  event  it 
commemorates.  You  will  remember,  if  you 
are  familiar  with  the  history  of  the  Ameri- 
can Eevolution,  and  this  you  undoubtedly 
are,  the  series  of  reverses  suffered  by  the 
American  army  during  1776.  The  battle  of 
Long  Island — the  retreat  from  Brooklyn — 
the  possession  of  New  York  by  the  British 
— the  battle  of  Chatterton's  Hill — the  cross- 
ing of  the  Hudson  by  Washington,  and  his 
retreat  through  New  Jersey  beyond  the 
River  Delaware. 

During  the  winter  that  followed,  the  ar- 
my of  Washington,  which  suffered  great 
privations,  was  reduced  to  about  three 
thousand  men.  Depressed  and  exhausted 
by  defeat  and  fatigue,  they  remained  posted 
on  the  west  side  of  the  Delaware. 

The  British,  under  General  Howe,  were 
stationed  in  New  Jersey,  about  four  thou- 
sand of  them  being  distributed  along  the 


86  havex't-time  and 


east  side  of  the  river,  at  Trenton,  Borden- 
town,  the  White  Horse,  Mount  Holly,  and 
Burlington,  and  the  residue  between  the 
Delaware  and  the  Hackensack.  In  the 
month  of  December,  the  continental  army 
was  reinforced,  and  Washington  deter- 
mined to  reconunence  active  operations. 
He  had  noticed  the  unprotected  situation 
of  the  winter  quarters  of  the  British  troops, 
and  he  contemplated  the  preservation  of 
Philadelphia  and  the  recovery  of  New  Jer- 
sey, by  sweeping,  at  one  stroke,  all  the  ene- 
mies' cantonments  on  the  Delaware.  Gene- 
ral Greene's  division,  with  whom  was  the 
commander-in-chief,  were  ordered  to  cross 
the  river  at  McKonkey's  ferry,  nine  miles 
above  Trenton,  to  attaciv  that  post.  Gene- 
ral Irvine  was  directed  to  cross  with  his 
division  at  Trenton  ferry,  to  secure  the 
bridge  below  the  town,  and  prevent  the  re- 
treat of  the  enemy  that  way.  General  Cad- 
walader  was  to  pass  the  river  at.  Bristol 
ferry,  and  assault  the  post  at  Burlington. 
The  night  of  Christmas  was   selected  for 


DOX'T-LE-IX-A-HURrwY.  87 


tlie  execution  of  tliis  daring  scheme.  It 
proved  to  be  so  intensely  cold,  and  so  much 
ice  was  made  in  the  river,  that  Generals 
Irvine  and  Cadwalader,  with  the  latter  of 
whom  was  the  artillery,  were  unable  to  cross 
with  their  divisions.  The  commander-in- 
chief  was  more  fortunate.  He  succeeded  in 
crossing  with  General's  Greene's  command, 
although  he  was  delayed  in  point  of  time. 
The  movement  was  commenced  at  dark, 
but  the  last  of  the  troops  did  not  get  over 
before  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The 
result  was  the  battle  of  Trenton,  at  which 
one  thousand  of  the  enemy  were  taken  pri- 
soners, and  a  thousand  stand  of  arms  and 
six  pieces  of  artillery  captured.  Of  the 
American  troops,  two  privates  were  killed 
and  two  frozen  to  death,  and  one  officer 
and  three  or  four  privates  were  wounded. 

These  are,  briefly,  the  interesting  facts 
in  history,  and  the  particular  incident  re- 
presented by  the  artist  is  the  crossing  of 
the  Delaware  by  Washington.  This  took 
place    during    the    night,   when    all   was 


88  haven't-time  and 


ghrouded  in  darkness,  that  concealed  the 
movement.  Of  course  Mr.  Leutze  could  not 
represent  the  darkness  without  drawing 
his  figures  indistinct ;  so,  departing  a  little 
from  the  true  time,  he  makes  the  passage 
of  the  commander-in-chief  take  j)lace  in 
the  cold  light  of  the  opening  morning.  The 
principal  object  in  the  picture  is  the  boat 
of  General  Washington,  which  fills  nearly 
the  entire  foreground.  In  the  distance, 
dimly  perceived  through  the  hazy  air,  are 
other  boats  of  the  expedition.  The  low  hills 
of  New  Jersey,  covered  with  snow,  are  seen 
in  the  distance  5  while  the  eye  seems  to 
travel  for  miles  and  miles  along  the  frozen 
surface  of  the  Delaware.  And  here,  I  will 
avail  myself  of  a  minute  and  graphic  de- 
scription of  this  painting,  taken  from  a  pe- 
riodical issued  by  the  New  York  Art-Union, 
and  especially  devoted  to  the  arts.  It  can- 
not fail  to  be  read  with  deep  interest. 

"  We  have  never  seen  in  art  a  represent- 
ation of  nature  so  gloomy  and  austere  as 
this  immense  barren  vista,  stretching  north- 


dox't-be-ix-a-hurry.  89 


ward  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  filled 
with  innumerable  cakes  of  floating  ice. 
One  may  almost  feel  the  biting  wind  sweep- 
ing over  this  frigid  waste.  The  aerial  per- 
spective is  so  well  managed  here  that  the 
impression  of  wasteness  and  desolation  is 
wonderfuly  enhanced  by  it,  and  the  diffi- 
culty of  the  passage  told  in  unmistakable 
language.  The  boat  is  represented  wath 
its  broadside  to  the  spectator,  and  pro- 
pelled by  three  or  four  oarsmen,  while  a 
sturdy  fellow  at  the  bows,  with  a  pole,  is 
pushing  away  the  huge  lumps  of  ice  that 
obstruct  its  path,  and  some  of  which  are 
seen  floating  in  the  open,  green  water  of 
the  foreground.  Standing  near  the  bows 
of  the  boat,  with  his  right  foot  raised  upon 
a  seat,  is  Washi^^gtoi^,  the  central  and  most 
conspicuous  object  of  the  composition,  and 
upon  which  the  light  is  chiefly  concentrated. 
His  head,  which  is  in  profile,  is  relieved 
against  the  brightest  part  of  the  wintry 
morning  sky.  He  wears  a  military  cloak, 
which   he    restrains   with    his    left    hand 


90  haven't-time  akd 


against  the  action  of  the  wind,  while  his 
right,  resting  upon  the  knee  that  is  raised, 
holds  a  small  reconnoitring  glass.  He  is 
dressed  in  full  uniform;  and  wears  the  silver- 
mounted,  green-hilted  sword,  which,  we  be- 
lieve, is  still  preserved.  He  looks  earnestly 
forward  toward  the  shore  he  is  approach- 
ing, and  there  is  in  his  features  and  atti- 
tude an  expression  of  dauntless  energy,  and 
at  the  same  time  of  calmness  and  resolu- 
tion and  self-reliance,  which  befits  the  man 
and  the  occasion.  It  corresponds  with  our 
ideal  of  Washington,  and  what  higher  praise 
than  this  can  we  award!  It  is  forcible 
without  being  extravagant  or  melo-drama- 
tic,  or  contradicting  our  belief  in  the  dig^ 
nified  gravity  of  his  character.  Seated  be- 
side him  in  front,  and  grasping  the  gunwale 
of  the  boat  with  his  right  hand,  the  rest  of 
his  body  being  enveloped  in  a  blue  military 
cloak,  is  Greene,  who  is  also  looking  intently 
forv>^ard  toward  the  point  of  debarkation. 
Immediately  behind  Washington  stands 
Colonel  Monroe,  (afterward  President,)  at 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  91 


tliat  time  a  young  man  of  nineteen  and  the 
aid  of  General  Greene.  He  is  bearing  the 
flag,  the  loose  folds  of  which  are  blown  out 
by  the  wind.  In  this  duty  he  is  assisted 
by  a  sturdy  countryman  in  a  light  frock 
and  fur  cap,  wdiose  countenance  seems  to 
us  one  of  the  most  successful  portions  of  the 
picture.  It  was  taken  in  part,  we  have 
been  informed,  from  the  features  of  Web- 
ster and  Jefferson,  and  it  seems  to  embody 
the  great  traits  that  characterized  the  old 
continentals  and  assured  the  success  of 
their  arms.  It  is  the  grandest  exhibition 
of  the  American  type  of  countenance  we 
have  ever  seen.  There  is  a  certain  cast  of 
solemnity  in  it,  as  if  it  were  reflecting  the 
darkness  of  that  gloomiest  period  of  our 
history,  to  be  illuminated  so  soon,  however, 
by  the  successes  of  Trenton  and  Princeton. 
We  can  follow  in  imagination  that  sturdy 
veteran  into  those  fights,  and  witness  the 
cool  intrepidity  with  which  he  shared  in 
tlieir  dangers.  In  the  stern  of  the  boat 
are  five  other  figures,  two  oarsmen  and 


92  havex't-time  and 


three  officers,  one  of  the  latter  having  his 
head  bandaged.  The  steersman  wears  a 
hunting-shirt,  and  is  drawn  with  great 
vigour  and  truth  to  nature.  The  officers 
are  wrapped  in  their  cloaks,  and  the  traces 
of  a  slight  fall  of  snow  are  seen  on  the  ex- 
posed portions  of  their  dress.  There  are 
twelve  persons  in  the  boat,  all  represented 
of  the  size  of  life." 

And  now  let  me  introduce  an  interest- 
ing incident  connected  with  this  painting, 
which  shows  the  strong  will  and  uncon- 
querable energy  of  the  artist.  The  paint- 
ing was  executed  at  Dusseldorf,  Germany, 
where  Mr.  Leutze  resided  for  some  time. 
There  is  in  that  city  a  celebrated  School 
of  Art,  pictures  from  which,  of  a  very  high 
order  of  excellence,  are  to  be  seen  in  New 
York.  Here,  as  just  said,  Mr.  Leutze  paint- 
ed his  picture  of  "Washington  crossing 
the  Delaware."  The  work  was  nearly 
completed,  when  the  building  in  which  he 
had  his  studio  caught  fire,  and  the  picture 
was  so  badly  injured  that  he  had  to  com- 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  93 


mence  a  new  one.  We  give  his  own  ac* 
count  of  this  misfortune,  taken  from  a  letter 
he  wrote  to  a  friend,  a  few  days  after  the 
occurrence : — 

"I  write  to  jou  v/ith  a  heavy  heart,  and 
although  not  bowed  down  by  the  misfortune, 
still  grieving  for  frustrated  hopes.  My  pic- 
ture of  Washington  is  so  much  injured  that 
I  must  give  up  all  hope  of  being  able  to 
finish  it  without  commencing  it  entirely 
anew.  Five  days  ago,  having  just  put 
down  my  palette  to  leave  for  dinner,  I  was 
startled  by  a  crackling  noise  behind  me, 
and  on  turning,  saw  the  flames  bursting 
tin'ough  the  floor  of  my  studio.  The  apart- 
ments below  were  all  on  fire.  All  hopes 
to  extinguish  it  seemed  vain.  Nothing  else 
was  left  but  to  cut  the  picture  from  the 
frame,  as  the  fire  spread  so  rapidly  to  all 
appearances,  and  the  smoke  became  so  dense 
as  to  make  a  stay  in  the  room  for  any  length 
of  time  impossible.  It  was  the  last  thing 
we  did — the  rooms  were  already  cleared  of 
every  thing.     We   succeeded  perfectly  m 


v.— H 


94  havex't-time  and 


getting  the  canvas  clown,  cutting  it  from 
the  frame  and  rolling  it;  but  the  good  peo- 
ple outside,  in  their  zeal  to  assist,  seized  it 
so  roughly  that  it  was  broken  in  more  than 
five  places,  and  no  chance  of  restoring  it 
left. 

"I  am  particularly  grieved  to  think  how 
much  longer  I  shall  be  detained  from  going 
to  America.  I  have  even  thought  of  going 
at  once  and  painting  the  jDicture  there. 
Already  I  have  ordered  another  canvas, 
and  shall  go  to  work  upon  it  at  once  as 
soon  as  I  receive  it.     Nothing  shall  deter 


me. 


'  The  picture  was  insured,  in  its  unfinish- 
ed state,  for  3000  thalers. 

"I  am  just  interrupted  in  this  letter  by 
the  arrival  of  the  deputies  of  the  insurance 
company  who  brought  me  the  money. 
Thej^  will  (as,  according  to  their  statutes, 
the  injured  picture  is  their  property)  dis- 
pose of  it  by  way  of  lottery,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  wives  and  children  of  the  militia  of 
Prussia,  who,  under  the  present  warlike 


LO:S'T-BE-IX-A-nURRT.  95 


appearances,  may  soon  be  left  without  their 
male  protectors.  Ten  thousand  chances 
will  be  made  at  one  thaler  per  chance. 
The  copyright  will  be  secured  to  me,  as 
also  six  months  possession  of  the  injured 
picture  to  assist  me  in  the  repetition.  .  . 
The  size  is  20  feet  4  inches,  by  12,  or  near- 
ly 12  feet  in  height." 

And  so  he  went  resolutely  to  his  task, 
and  in  a  few  months  reproduced  his  work 
in  the  painting  just  described  as  on  exhibi- 
tion in  New  York. 

This  is  a  long  digression,  but  we  do  not 
think  the  reader,  whether  young  or  old, 
has  found  it  in  the  least  tedious. 

As  before  said,  our  friend  Mr.  Don't-be- 
in-a-hurry  had  heard  nmch  of  this  picture, 
and  greatly  desired  to  see  it.  Now  the 
opportunity  was  at  hand.  Alas!  he  was 
in  no  condition  to  avail  of  it.  His  head 
ached,  and  his  whole  frame  was  weary  and 
oppressed.  If,  instead  of  forgetting  the 
true  purpose  of  his  visit  to  New  York  in  a 
bootless  political  discussion,  he  had  spent 


96  haven't-time  and 


the  two  hours  thus  lost  in  examining  this 
painting  and  some  of  those  on  exhibition 
in  the  Art-Union  Gallery,  how  much  real 
pleasure  would  he  have  derived!  How 
would  his  mind  have  been  benefited  and 
his  taste  improved ! 

A  moment  or  two  he  hesitated  whether 
to  go  in  and  see  tlie  picture  or  not.  Then, 
a  sudden  increase  of  the  pain  in  his  head 
decided  the  brief  debate.  He  was  in  no 
condition  to  enjoy  a  work  of  art,  no  matter 
how  attractive,  and  so  kept  on  his  way 
toward  the  hotel.  Arrived  there,  he  went 
up  to  his  room,  and  lying  down,  remained 
until  dinner  was  announced.  By  this  time, 
the  pain  in  his  head  had  again  subsided. 
After  dinner — he  wisely  partook  but  lightly 
of  this  meal — Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  felt 
a  great  deal  better.  But  he  concluded  to 
remain  quiet  for  the  afternoon,  with  the 
exception  of  calling  upon  Mr.  Jenkins,  as 
agreed  upon.  At  four  o'clock  he  was  in  the 
reading-room,  engaged  in  the  perusal  of  an 
interesting    newspaper    article.      Casually 


don't-be-ix-a-hurrt.  97 


raising  his  eyes,  they  rested  upon  the  face 
of  a  clock — he  noted  the  time,  and  thought 
within  hiiuself  that  he  ought  no^7  to  call 
upon  Mr.  Jenkins,  who  had  particularly 
informed  him  that  he  would  not  be  in  his 
store  after  five.  Then  he  let  his  eyes  run 
along  the  article  he  was  reading,  to  note  its 
length.  He  had  become  interested  in  it — 
but  it  was  long.  A  moment  or  two  he  hesi- 
tated  whether  to  finish  reading  the  article 
now,  or  to  defer  its  perusal  until  'after  his 
call  upon  Mr.  Jenkins. 

"  There's  time  enough,"  said  he,  and 
busied  his  thoughts  again  in  the  news- 
paper. 

When  next  particularly  conscious  of  sur- 
rounding objects,  which  was  not  until  the 
long  article  was  finished,  it  lacked  only  a 
few  minutes  of  ^ve  o'clock. 

^'  I  declare !"  he  exclaimed,  in  observing 
this,  starting  up  as  he  spoke,  and  hurrying 
off  to  the  store  of  his  friend.  Mr.  Jenkins, 
a  very  punctual  man,  had  been  gone  just 
three  minutes. 

h2 


98  haven't-time  and 


"  Will  he  be  back  again  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Don't-be-in-a-hurry. 

"  Not  this  afternoon/'  was  the  reply. 

Exceedingly  disappointed,  our  friend  re- 
turned to  the  hotel.  He  had  forgotten  to 
ask  for  the  residence  of  Mr.  Jenkins,  with 
whom  he  was  to  dine  on  the  morrow.  This 
omission  he  remembered  on  reaching  the 
hotel,  and  was  about  returning  to  get  the 
information,  when  it  occurred  to  his  mind 
that  a  reference  to  a  city  Directory,  to  be 
procured  at  the  bar,  or  office,  would  save 
this  trouble.  As  the  Directory  could  be  con- 
sulted at  any  time,  there  was  no  necessity 
for  doing  it  just  then.  So  this  was  put  off 
to  an  imagined  more  convenient  moment. 

The  hurried  walk  to  the  store  of  Mr.  Jen- 
kins, and  the  disturbance  of  mind  pro- 
duced by  what  followed,  brought  back  the 
headache  from  which  Mr.  Don't-be-in-ar 
hurry  had  suffered  during  the  morning, 
and  thus  completed  the  day's  defects  and 
disappointments. 

Our  friend  was  something  of  a  philoso 


DON  T-BE-IN-A-HURRT. 


pher.  He  belonged  to  the  class  of  men  who, 
when  reflection  comes  after  a  loss  or  an 
unpleasant  occurrence,  console  themselves 
by  sa;)  ing — ^'  It's  no  use  to  cry  over  spilled 
milk."  So  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  said  to 
himself,  on  becoming  a  little  composed. 
The  departure  from  New  York  was  men- 
tally delayed  from  Monday  until  Tuesday. 
On  Sunday — so  he  thought  within  himself 
— he  would  dine  with  Mr.  Jenkins,  and, 
assisted  by  that  gentleman's  knowledge  of 
the  points  of  interest  in  New  York,  so  ar- 
range his  time  for  Monday  as  to  see  a 
great  deal,  and  thus  make  up  for  whe.t  had 
been  lost.  His  headache  continuing  after 
supper,  he  did  not  go  out  during  the  even- 
ing. Half  a  dozen  times  he  thought  of  con- 
sulting the  Directory,  to  ascertain  where 
Mr.  Jenkins  lived,  but  as  often  deferred  it 
to  another  time.  Finally,  on  retiring  to 
bed;  he  still  remained  in  ignorance  on  this 
point.  But,  soid  he  to  himself,  as  he  re- 
membered his  neglect,  it  will  be  time 
enough  in  the  morning. 


100  haven't-time  and 


But  in  the  morning  a  new  disappointr 
inent  awaited  him.  On  consulting  the  Di- 
rectory, the  name  of  Mr.  Jenkins  was  not 
to  be  found  therein.  The  truth  was,  Mr. 
Jenkins  resided  in  Williamsburg,  a  fact 
which  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  would  have 
learned,  had  he  returned  to  his  store  on  the 
afternoon  previous,  to  make  inquiry,  as  he 
had  at  first  intended  to  do. 

How  Sunday  was  spent  we  will  not  de- 
scribe. Not  very  profitably,  however,  it 
may  be  said. 

On  Monday  morning,  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry,  who,  during  his  Sunday  reflections, 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Jen- 
kins had  not  treated  him  well,  determined 
not  to  call  again  on  that  gentleman.  So, 
after  breakfast,  he  started  forth,  determined 
to  see  as  much  for  one  day  as  possible.  It 
being  early  when  he  left  the  hotel,  and  the 
morning  air  feeling  fresh  and  bracing,  he 
concluded  to  walk  first  down  to  the  Bat- 
tery, although  he  had  spent  some  hours 
there  on  Friday,  and  take  another  look  at 


don't-be-ix-a-hurry.  101 


the  broad,  beautiful  bay,  and  the  busy  life 
upon  its  crowded  surface. 

"  There  will  be  plenty  of  time  left  to  see 
all  I  want  to  see,"  was  the  self-deluding  re- 
mark with  which  he  started  down  Broad- 
way. 

It  was  an  hour  before  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry  reached  the  Battery.  What  with 
looking  at  the  pictures  and  other  notable 
things  in  the  shop-windows;  examining  the 
interior  of  Trinity  Church — not  lost  time 
this,  by  the  way;  strolling  through  Wall 
street,  he  used  up  at  least  sixty  minutes, 
and  arrived  finally,  at  the  point  for  which 
he  had  set  out,  quite  weary  enough  to 
enjoy  a  comfortable  seat  beneath  the  shade- 
trees.  The  cool,  refreshing  air  from  the 
water,  the  moving  panorama  of  ships  and 
steamers,  and  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
view,  all  produced  so  pleasant  an  effect 
upon  the  mind  of  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry, 
that  he  remained,  unconscious  of  the  pass- 
ing time,  for  nearly  two  hours. 

"  Twelve  o'clock,  as  I  live  I"  he  exclaimed 


102  haven't-time  anl 


at  length,  on  drawing  out  his  watch.  "  How 
swiftly  the  time  does  pass !" 

So  he  left  the  Battery  with  a  hurried 
movement,  and,  jumping  into  an  omnibus, 
started  up  Broadway.  His  purpose  w^as  to 
visit  without  further  delay,  the  picture  of 
Washington  crossing  the  Delaware.  In  this 
picture  he  had  felt  much  pride  and  interest. 
It  was  the  work  of  an  American  artist,  and 
commemorated  an  event  of  deep  historical 
interest.  In  fact,  of  all  matters  of  interest  in 
New  York,  the  mind  of  Mr.  Don't-be-in-ar 
hurry  had  given  to  this  the  most  prominence. 
And  yet,  strange  as  this  may  seem,  while 
riding  in  the  omnibus  he  determined,  as 
he  felt  so  comfortably  seated,  and  was  on 
the  way,  to  continue  on  up  town  and  take 
a  look  at  Grace  Church,  Union  Park,  and 
the  free-stone  palaces  of  the  Fifth  Avenue, 
erected  by  some  of  the  merchant-princes  of 
New  York.  He  could  visit  Leutze's  picture 
on  his  return. 

But,  the  time  passed  far  more  rapidly 
than  he  had  calculated.    He  did  not  return 


don't-be-ix-a-hurry.  103 


until  tlie  dinner-hour.  So  the  chief  plea- 
sure anticipated  from  a  visit  to  New  York 
was  postponed  until  the  afternoon. 

I  will  not  weary  the  reader  by  further 
detailing  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry  to  see  New  York  and  its  lions. 
Enough,  that  neither  Leutze's  picture,  the 
Art-Union  Gallery,  nor  indeed,  scarcely  any 
thing  except  the  external  objects  to  be  en- 
countered on  a  journey  through  Broadway 
and  a  visit  to  the  Batterj^,  had  been  seen 
by  our  friend,  who  determined  to  leave  for 
Niagara  on  the  next  morning.  There  would 
be  time  enough  to  see  New  York  on  his 
return — so  he  consoled  himself. 

The  beautiful  steamer  New  World — a 
floating  palace,  as  she  was  not  inappro- 
priately called — left  for  Albany  at  seven 
o'clock  on  Tuesday  morning.  In  this  boat 
Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  resolved  to  take 
passage.  So,  he  paid  his  bill  and  packed 
his  trunk  on  Monday  night,  and  also  gave 
notice  at  the  office  that  he  wished  an  early 
breakfast. 


104  haven't-time  and 


CHAPTER   XI. 

LOSES  HIS   PASSAGE   IN  THE  ALBANY  BOAT.— THE 
CONSEQUENCES.— CONCLUSION. 

EAP-rap-rajD. 

"Who's  there?"  cries  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry,  starting  up  from  a  profound  sleep 
It  was  daylight. 

"Going in  the  seven  o'clock  boat?"  asked 
a  servant. 

"All  right,"  responds  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry,  who  draws  his  watch  from  under 
his  pillow. 

"Only  half-past  ^v^^''  ^^^  muttered  to 
himself  "  He  means  that  I  shall  be  early 
enough.  Plenty  of  time  this  half-hour. 
Boat  doesn't  leave  until  seven  o'clock." 

And  so  he  sinks  back  upon  his  pillow, 
meaning  to  lie  just  a  htilf  an  hour  to  a 
minute,  and  no  more.  Of  course  he  fell 
into  a  sound  sleep,  from  which  the  loud 
slamming  of  a  door  in  the  vicinity  awakens 
him.     He  looks  at  his  watch. 


don't-be-in-a-hurry.  105 


"Bless  me!" 

No  wonder  lie  makes  the  exclamation. 
It  is  ten  minutes  past  seven  o'clock !  His 
half-hour  s  repose  has  been  lengthened  to 
an  hour  and  a  half.  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a- 
hurry  felt  bad.  So  far,  there  had  been  loss 
of  time  and  loss  of  pleasure  at  every  point, 
and  he  alone  was  to  blame.  Here  was  a 
new  disappointment,  and  again  it  was  his 
own  fault.  He  was  exceedingly  vexed 
with  himself 

All  disposition  for  further  indulgence 
was  gone.  So  he  arose  and  dressed  him- 
self It  was  half-j)ast  seven  o'clock  when 
he  came  down,  and  to  one  of  the  attendants 
at  the  office  mentioned  his  disappointment. 

"You  can  still  leave  at  eight  o'clock," 
was  the  answer. 

"Doesn't  the  boat  go  at  seven?"  was  the 
eager  inquiry. 

"0  yes,  the  boat  leaves  at  seven.  But 
a  train  of  cars  on  the  Hudson  Eiver  Rail- 
road leaves  at  eight.  Passengers  by  this 
line  arrive  at  Poughkeepsie  before  the  boat, 

Y.-7  T.-I 


106  haven't-time  and 


which  stops  for  and  conveys  them  to  Al- 
bany." 

"Are  you  certain?"  was  Mr.  Don't-be-in- 
a-hurry's  quick  interrogation. 

"  0  yes,"  answered  the  attendant.  "  Se- 
veral gentlemen  are  about  leaving  to  go  in 
that  train.  They  are  bringing  down  their 
baggage  now.     Shall  I  order  yours?" 

"By  all  means." 

The  bacfojaoe  was  brought  down  and 
placed  upon  the  coach,  into  which  Mr. 
Don  t-be-in-a-hurry  crept  and  was  soon 
dashing  away  for  the  Hudson  Elver  Rail- 
road depot — without  his  breakfast,  of  course. 

In  due  time  the  cars  started,  and  were 
soon  sweeping  ahead  at  the  fearful  speed 
of  from  forty  to  fifty  miles  an  hour,  which 
made  our  friend  feel  rather  nervous.  A 
very  long  time  did  not  pass  before,  in  a 
reach  of  the  river  seen  in  advance  from  the 
window  of  the  car  at  which  he  sat,  his  eyes 
rested  on  the  splendid  boat  that  left  the 
city  at  seven  o'clock.  Eapidly  they  gamed 
up)on  her,  and,  not  long  after  passing  Sing- 


A    FEARFUL    ACCIDKXT. 


I'a-e  109. 


don't-be-in-a-hurrt.  109 


Sing,  tlie  cars  and  boat  were  moving  side 
by  side.  But  soon  the  boat  was  left  be- 
hind, and  the  rattling  train  went  dashing 
onward  with  undiminished  speed. 

A  shock — a  fearful  crash — wild  screams 
of  terror — momentary  blindness  and  confu- 
sion. Then  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  found 
himself  wedged  in  between  a  broken  seat 
and  a  portion  of  the  shattered  roof  of  the 
car  in  which  he  had  been  riding,  and  was 
soon  conscious  of  a  severe  pain  in  his  arm. 

There  had  been  a  fearful  accident.  A 
switch-tender  had  neglected  his  duty,  and 
the  whole  train  of  cars  had,  in  consequence, 
run  off  the  track,  or  been  broken  by  the 
terrific  concussion  that  followed  the  sudden 
check  of  speed.  Providentially,  but  one  or 
two  lives  were  lost;  though  a  number  of 
the  passengers  were  badly  injured. 

Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry  escaped  with  a 
broken  arm. 

The  boat  that  left  New  iTork  at  seven 
o'clock,  landed  her  passengers  safely  in  Al- 
bany.    Another  train  of  cars  took  the  rail- 


110  haven't-time  and 


road  passengers  back  to  New  York;  among 
them  Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry,  who  returned, 
by  the  evening  line  to  Philadelphia,  suffer- 
ing most  dreadful  pain  from  his  broken  arm. 
He  arrived  in  advance  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Haven't-time,  whose  sprained  ankle  kept 
him  several  days  in  New  York. 

And  so  my  two  neighbours,  both  very 
clever  and  intelligent  men  in  their  way, 
lost  all  the  pleasure  and  profit  they  had 
hoped  to  receive  from  a  summer's  trip  of  a 
few  weeks;  and  this,  because  one  of  them 
permitted  himself  always  to  feel  in  a  hurry, 
while  the  other  gave  so  Httle  regard  to  the 
passage  of  time  that  he  was  generally  too 
late.  And  yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to 
the  reader,  neither  of  them  was  willing  to 
admit  that  he  alone  was  to  blame  for  the 
disappointment  and  injury  he  had  sustained. 

"It's  just  my  luck,"  said  Mr.  Haven't- 
time. 

And — 

"  I'm  a  sort  of  a  Jonah,  I  believe."  said 
Mr.  Don't-be-in-a-hurry. 


don't-be-ix-a-hurry.  Ill 


Notwithstanding  this,  however,  the  truth 
would  force  itself  upon  them,  and  they  could 
not  hel^)  seeing,  at  times,  that  they  alone 
were  to  blame.  I  hope  they  have  tried  to 
mend  their  ways. 

Are  there  any  Haven't-times  and  Don  t- 
be-in-a-hurries,  among  my  readers?  I  shall 
not  be  far  wrong,  if  I  say  yes — some  quite 
as  forgetful  and  others  quite  as  over  thought- 
ful about  the  passage  of  time  as  the  person- 
ages introduced  in  my  story.  Well,  I  have 
held  before  you  a  mirror :  do  not,  after  look- 
ing at  yourself,  straightway  depart  and  for- 
get what  manner  of  men  (or  boys)  you  are. 
If  my  story  has  not  been  very  exciting,  it 
has  taught  you,  I  trust,  a  useful  lesson,  and 
this,  if  it  does  you  good,  will  prove  far  bet- 
ter than  if  I  had  merely  pleased  your  fancy. 


I2 


THE  CAREIER 


"  TTERE,  father,"  said  a  bright  little  fel- 
low,  upon  whose  head  six  smiling 
years  had  laid  their  fingers  gently. 

The  child  spoke  to  his  father,  who  had 
just  come  in,  reaching  toward  him,  at  the 
same  time,  a  sheet  of  printed  paper. 

^^  What's  this?"  exclamied  Mr.  Garland, 
with  some  petulance  in  his  tone.  He  did 
not  need  an  answer  to  liis  question,  for  he 
knew  what  the  paper  contained,  and  this 
was  the  reason  that  his  voice  manifested  a 
degree  of  mitation. 

As  he  received  it  from  his  child,  he  read 
the  words,  "Carriers'  Address." 

"There's  been  too  much  of  this/'  said 

112 


THE    CARRIER.  113 


Mr.  Garlandj  tossing  the  paper  from  him, 
"  too  much  of  this.  It's  a  downright  piece 
of  imposition,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  I  pay 
for  my  Gazette  whenever  the  bill  is  sent 
in,  and  I  think,  in  all  conscience,  that  should 
absolve  me  from  further  obligation  to  the 
establishment.  But  no  !  every  New-year's 
day,  there  is  thrust  under  my  nose  some 
hundred  lines  of  doggerel  poetry,  for  which 
I  am  expected  to  give  a  quarter." 

And  Mr.  Garland,  fretting  under  what 
he  was  pleased  to  call  an  imposition,  ac- 
tually began  to  pace  the  floor  backward 
and  forward,  nervously. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter, 
my  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Garland,  seeing  the 
unusual  state  of  her  husband's  mind;  "you 
'Certainly  haven't  been  put  out  of  temper 
by  the  reception  of  the  Carriers'  Address." 

"  I  certainly  have,  then,"  replied  Mr. 
Garland.  "  I  dislike  imposition,  and  this 
address  business  I've  always  looked  upon 
as  an  imposition — a  mere  trick  to  swindle 
newspaper  subscribers  out  of  their  money." 


114  THE   CARKI3R. 


"Dont  talk  so,  Mr.  Garland,"  returned 
the  wife,  "I  don't  like  to  hear  it;  jour  con- 
tribution to  the  carrier  needn't  go  beyond 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar — the  amount  you  spend 
in  cigars,  two  or  three  times  over,  every 
week.  To  you  it  will  be  only  a  trifle;  but 
the  aggregate  of  such  trifles  from  two  or 
three  hundred  will  be  of  great  importance 
to  the  poor  carrier." 

"It  isn't  the  amount  that  I  care  about, 
Jane/'  replied  Mr.  Garland,  "j^ou  know 
that.  But  I  never  could  bear  to  be  swin- 
dled." 

.     Just  at  this  moment  a  servant  entered 
the  room,  and  said — 

"The  carrier  of  the  Gazette  has  called 
for  his  New-year's  gift." 

"  Tell  the  carrier  of  the  Gazette  to  go 
about  his  business,"  fretfully  replied  Mr. 
Garland.  "I've  paid  for  my  paper,  and 
that  is  all  that  should  be  expected  of  me." 

The  servant  withdrew,  and  as  she  did  so^ 
Mrs.  Garland  exclaimed— 


THE   CARRIER.  115 


"Edward!  Edward!  how  could  you  do 
80?     This  isn't  like  you  at  all." 

"  It's  very  like  me  to  set  my  face  against 
all  imposition,"  said  Mr.  Garland,  "very 
like  me !  I  made  up  my  mind,  last  year, 
that  I  would  never  again  submit  to  this ;  and 
I  don't  mean  to.  Besides,  I've  made  it  my 
business  to  talk  about  it  to  a  good  many ; 
and  they  will  talk  about  it  to  a  good  many 
more.  If  I'm  not  mistaken,  the  carrier's 
levy  on  subscribers'  purses  will  not  be  found 
so  easy  a  matter  as  before — at  least  in  some 
cases." 

"Keally,  Edward,"  said  the  wife  of  Mr. 
Garland,  "I  am  at  a  loss  to  comprehend 
how  you  can  take  a  little  matter  of  this  kind 
so  much  to  heart." 

"I'm  not,  then,"  returned  the  husband. 
"  I  stand  on  principle.  This  is  an  imposi- 
tion, and  I  go  against  every  thing  of  the 
kind." 

Mrs.  Garland  sighed,  and  made  no  fur- 
ther remark.  The  incident  grieved  her. 
She  felt  hurt  from  more  than  one  cause. 


116  THE    CARRIER. 


It  hurt  her  to  think  that  her  husband 
hhould  have  sent  so  rough  and  cutting  an 
answer  to  the  jDoor  carrier;  and  she  was 
hurt  to  think  of  the  disappointment  and 
pain  occasioned  by  the  unkmd  rebuff. 

The  dinner-bell  rang  soon  after,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Garland  went  with  their  family 
to  the  dining-room.  But  neither  of  them 
had  much  appetite.  The  former,  far  from 
being  satisfied  with  himself,  felt  particular- 
ly uncomfortable;  and  already  more  than 
half  repented  of  what  he  had  done.  To 
him  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  was  a  matter  of 
but  small  consideration.  He  could  have 
handed  it  to  the  carrier,  who.  had,  during 
the  sultry  heat  of  summer  and  the  sharp 
storms  of  winter,  brought  him  the  paper 
he  so  much  enjoyed,  with  unfailing  regu- 
larity, and  not  have  suffered  the  abridg- 
ment of  a  single  comfort,  or  the  tithe  of  a 
comfort;  and  yet  he  withheld  the  small 
sum  that  would  have  blessed  both  the  giver 
and  the  receiver,  because,  forsooth,  either 


THE    CAERIER.  117 


his  pride  or  his  selfishness  had  been  assault- 
ed with  the  idea  of  an  imposition. 

No,  Mr.  Garland  did  not  enjoy  his  din- 
ner. There  was  a  pressure  on  his  feelings, 
and  a  sense  of  internal  disquietude  that 
took  away  his  appetite.  He  returned  to 
his  store  m  a  soberer  mood  than  when  he 
left  it. 

Now  that  Mr.  Garland  had  taken  his 
stand  against  the  carriers  and  their  New- 
year's  Addresses,  although  the  act  had 
brought  him  far  more  pain  than  pleasure, 
he  was  not  the  man  to  recede.  In  seeking 
self-justification  for  what  he  had  done,  his 
mind  naturally  yielded  to  anger  against 
the  aforesaid  carriers.  Feeling  ever  seeks 
expression.  And  so  it  was  the  most  natu- 
ral thing  in  the  world — from  the  abundance 
of  the  heart  the  mouth,  speaketh — for  Mr 
Garland  to  say  to  the  first  person  he  met — 

'^Well,  how  many  New-year's  Addresses 
have  you  paid  for  to-day?" 

"Two,"    was    replied  with   a   pleasant 
smile. 


118  THE    CARRIER. 


"Humph!  and  so  you  submit  to  the  im- 
position?" 

"What  imposition?"  inquired  the  friend. 

"  This  imposition  of  Carriers'  Addresses." 

"It  never  struck  me  as  such.  I've  al- 
ways paid  my  half-dollar  to  the  carrier, 
when  he  came  with  his  good  wishes  and 
his  poetry  on  the  happy  new  year,  with  a 
real  pleasure,  and  felt  that  I  had  received 
more  than  the  worth  of  the  money. 

"Poetry — pah! — such  stuff.  Had  you 
ever  the  patience  to  read  it?" 

"As  for  the  poetry,  that  is  of  small  ac- 
count, and  might  readily  give  way  for 
something  better — a  good  story,  or  well- 
written  tract  on  the  times — which  would 
insure  the  carrier  a  heartier  welcome.  So 
many  people  look  for  the  quid  ^o  quo,  that 
a  large  number,  who  now  hand  out  then' 
pittance  grudgingly,  would  welcome  with  a 
better  grace  the  industrious  distributer  of 
papers  on  New-year's  day,  from  feeling  that 
they  got  something  near  their  money's 
worth." 


THE    CARRIER.  119 


'^There's  reason  in  that/'  replied  Gar- 
land. "  But  as  the  matter  now  stands,  it's 
something  so  much  like  a  clear  swindle, 
that  I  can't  tolerate  it." 

^'0  no,  it  is  not  a  swindle, — don't  talk 
^0,  pray.  It  is  the  continuance  of  a  fine 
old  custom,  that  sprang  into  existence 
from  a  spirit  of  good-will  and  hospitality, 
engendered  by  this  festive  season.  Gifts 
and  tokens  have  always  marked  its  return ; 
and  from  those  who  had  required  service 
of  others,  something  passed  by  way  of  re- 
membrance and  acknowledgment.  In  the 
case  of  the  carrier,  but  little  is  expected, 
and  little  given ;  but  with  all  that  is  given, 
there  goes  a  blessing,  the  aggregate  of  which 
is  great.  His  pay  is  small  at  best,  and  it 
is  but  natural  to  suppose  that  his  light  in- 
come does  not  exceed  his  plainest  wants. 
Of  much  that  we  enjoy,  he  is  deprived  by 
poverty;  and  midwinter,  doubtless,  often 
finds  him  in  debt,  or  his  family  sufiering 
from  the  deprivation  of  many  comforts  he 
has  been  unable  to  provide  for  them.     Such 


V.-K 


120  THE   CARRIER. 


being  the  case,  imagine  with  what  jDleasure 
he  must  look  forward  to  New-year's  day, 
when  the  kind  j^atrons  he  has  so  faithfully 
served  will  remember  him.  If  there  be 
three  or  four  hundred  of  these,  how  great  a 
relief  will  the  trifle  each  gives  him  afford 
to  his  needy  family.  I  never  forget  this, 
Mr.  Garland,  and,  therefore,  bestow  my 
little  offering  upon  the  carrier,  with  the 
sincerest  pleasure.  Such  a  thought  as  its 
being  a  swindle  never  penetrates  my  mind; 
and  I  am  sorry  that  it  should  ever  have 
found  its  way  into  yours.  Pray,  dismiss 
it  from  your  thoughts  at  once  and  for  ever." 

Mr.  Garland  felt  a  little  ashamed  after 
this.  He  ventured  a  feeble  defence  of  him- 
self, and  then  changed  the  subject. 

Let  us  now  introduce  another  character 
who  is  to  play  a  part  in  our  story;  and  in 
doing  so,  we  will  go  back  for  a  few  months. 
In  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Cincinnati,  where 
the  small  houses  stood  at  some  distance  from 
each  other,  was  one  poor  tenement,  rented 
and  occupied  by  a  man  named  John  Adams, 


THE   CARRIER.  121 


Lis  wife  and  four  young  cliildren.  Adams, 
who  for  some  years  followed  the  trade  of 
piano-forte  maker,  had  been  so  unfortunate 
as  to  injure  one  of  his  hands  very  badly. 
In  healing,  a  tendon  contracted,  and  he 
could  no  lonorer  work  at  his  re«;ular  callino;. 
From  that  time  the  poor  man,  who  had  be- 
fore made  a  comfortable  living  for  family, 
found  himself  in  great  extremity,  and  was 
compelled  to  resort  to  various  expedients 
in  order  to  pick  up  a  few  dollars  with  which 
to  pay  his  rent  and  to  buy  necessary  food 
and  clothing  for  his  wife  and  children.  At 
length,  he  succeeded  in  getting  the  place 
of  carrier,  for  a  small  route  on  a  morning 
paper.  The  pay  was  three  dollars  a  week. 
This  was  something  certain — enough  to 
keep  the  gaunt  wolf,  hunger,  from  his  door 
— ^while  the  greater  portion  of  his  time  re- 
mained on  his  hands,  to  be  occupied  with 
any  thing  that  offered. 

It  was  near  midsummer  wdien  Adams 
got  the  round  on  the  morning  paper  to 
serve.     Over  six  months  had  passed  from 


122  THE    CAEmER. 


the  time  he  received  the  injury;  and  in  all 
that  ]3eriod,  his  income  had  not  averaged 
even  three  dollars  weekly.  Previously  to 
his  being  uijuredj  it  had  been  ten  dollars. 
Sadly  apparent  was  the  change  that  came 
over  his  unhappy  family.  From  their  com- 
fortable home  they  were  compelled  to  move, 
and  to  shrink  away  into  a  poor  frame  tene- 
ment, where  we  find  them,  that  was  neither 
decent  nor  comfortable.  Worse  than  all,  a 
debt  was  contracted  for  arrearage  of  rent, 
and  for  things  absolutely  necessary;  and 
this  weighed  heavily  upon  the  mind  of 
John  Adams,  for  he  was  an  honest  man, 
and  the  thought  of  debt  pained  him. 

After  the  carrier's  situation  had  been 
obtained,  things  were  a  little  better  with 
Adams.  He  had  five  dollars  a  week,  cer- 
tain, and  was  able  to  pick  up,  for  little  jobs 
of  one  kind  and  another,  some  tunes  three, 
sometimes  four,  and  occasiouallj'  as  much  as 
five  dollars  a  week  besides.  But,  by  this 
time,  clothes  were  needed  to  cover  the 
nakedness  of  the  children,  and  other  neces- 


THE   CARRIER.  123 


sary  articles  required,  so  that  weeks  and 
months  went  by  without  any  dinunution  of 
the  debt,  which  was  about  fifty  dollars,  and 
owed  to  his  landlord,  who  kej^t  a  small 
grocery.  The  store-keej)er  had  frequently 
asked  for  his  money,  and  being  put  off  from 
time  to  time,  grew  impatient,  and  began  to 
threaten. 

Summer  passed — autumn  came,  and  with 
it  the  dreadful  scourge — the  cholera,  which 
swept  off  the  citizens  in  scores.  While 
business  was  abandoned,  and  business  houses 
only  o^^ened  for  appearance,  the  newspapers 
had  to  be  regularly  issued.  The  patrons 
looked  more  eagerly  than  ever  for  their 
daily  paper  and  its  news,  and  the  carrier, 
well  or  ill,  in  good  or  bad  whether,  had  to 
be  on  his  round  by  moming-light.  Daily 
on  his  route  he  found  some  patron  had  been 
carried  off,  and  while  his  heart  sickened 
and  his  fears  for  himself  in  his  lonelj^ 
rounds  came,  still  his  duty  called  him  to 
his  daily  toil.  Autumn  passed — the  scourge 
departed,  but  bleak  December  came  in  with 

e2 


124  THE    CARRIER. 


its  cold  and  cheerless  visage.  Still  the  debt 
to  the  landlord  was  unpaid,  and  he  had 
called  m  the  law  to  assist  him  in  getting 
his  own.  Poor  John  Adams  was  complete- 
ly in  his  power. 

"  Wait  until  after  New-year's  day,  and  I 
will  pay  you,"  said  Adams,  as  he  plead 
with  the  hard-hearted  store-keeper  to  leave 
him  yet  free  from  an  execution. 

"Why,  until  after  New-years  day?" 
asked  the  creditor. 

"  I  serve  the  Gazette,  and  there  are  over 
three  hundred  papers  on  my  round.  My 
New-year's  Addresses  will  bring  me  in  more 
than  enough  to  pay  you." 

The  store-keeper  thought  for  a  while,  and 
then  answered — 

"Very  well,  I'll  wait.  But  if  not  paid 
then,  don't  ask  me  to  wait  any  longer. 
You  must  leave  my  house  or  pay  my  bill." 

Now  this  was  the  first  year  that  Adams 
had  served  the  paper,  and  the  thought  of 
going  round  to  the  patrons  of  the  Gazette 
and  offering  his  address,  made  him  feel  un- 


THE    CARRIER.  125 


pleasantly  whenever  it  crossed  his  mind 
But  it  was  a  time-honoured  custom,  and 
the  other  carriers  looked  forward  to  it  and 
spoke  of  it  as  a  thing  of  course,  and  as  a 
means  of  adding  to  their  income  an  amount 
not  only  needed,  but  necessary  for  their 
comfort.  And  he,  like  the  rest,  came  to 
look  forward  to  it,  and  to  make  calculations 
thereon,  as  has  been  seen.  From  what  he 
received  for  his  addresses,  he  was  not  only 
to  pay  his  debt,  but  procure  sundry  com- 
forts for  himself  and  family.  Among  the 
latter  was  a  coarse,  heavy  overcoat  for 
himself — an  article  greatly  needed  for^oro- 
tection  from  the  cold  as  he  served  his  papers 
early  in  the.moming,  ere  the  sun  had  arisen 
— ^ome  warm  under-garments  for  his  wife, 
and  a  bonnet  and  shawl  suitable  for  her  ap- 
pearance at  church  on  the  Sabbath.  Also, 
some  decent  clothes  for  the  two  elder  chil- 
dren, in  order  that  they  might  attend  their 
Sunday-school,  from  which  they  had  been 
absent  since  the  commencement  of  cold 
weather. 


126  THE   CARRIER. 


The  first  day  of  the  new  year  at  length 
arrived.  After  serving  his  round,  John 
Adams  came  home  to  his  breakfast.  It 
was  very  cold,  and  he  shivered  as  he  drew 
close  up  to  the  little  stove. 

^'I  nearly  perished  this  morning,"  said 
he,  and  his  teeth  chattered  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  must  have  a  warm  overcoat,"  his 
wife  remarked,  with  tender  concern  in  her 
voice.  "You'll  catch  your  death-a'-cold 
before  this  winter's  over." 

"Thank  fortune!  I'll  get  one  before 
night.  That  is,  if  I  have  good  luck  to- 
da>" 

The  last  sentence  was  spoken  less  cheer- 
fully than  the  first;  and  marked  the  exist- 
ence of  a  doubt  in  his  mind. 

"You'll  take  round  your  addresses  to- 
day ?"  said  his  wife. 

"Yes,  and  if  I  have  good  luck,  will  be 
better  off  to-night  than  I  am  now  by  some 
seventy  or  eighty  dollars." 

"Do  you  really  think  you  will  get  so 
much?"     There  was  a  tone  of  joyfulness  in 


THE  CARRIER.  127 


the  wife's  voice.  "Eighty  dollars  is  a  great 
deal  of  money." 

"I  know  it  is.  But  one  of  the  carriers 
told  me  that  he  got  a  hundred  and  eight 
dollars  last  New-year,  and  his  route  is  no 
larger  than  mine.'" 

"So  much?" 

"Yes,  indeed!" 

Adams  spoke  with  more  animation  than 
at  first.  He  was  beginning  to  perceive  the 
warmth  of  the  stove,  and  the  comfortable 
sensation  communicated  itself  to  his  feel- 
ings. 

Breakfast  being  on  the  table,  the  carrier, 
so  soon  as  he  had  warmed  himself,  sat  down 
and  hurriedly  despatched  his  morning's 
meal.  His  mind  was  too  intent  on  the 
business  of  the  day  to  feel  a  very  strong 
appetite. 

"You're  not  going  out  now,  are  you?" 
said  Mrs.  Adams,  as  her  husband  started 
up  from  the  table  and  took  his  hat.  "You 
haven't  half  finished  your  breakfast." 

"'I've  eaten  all  I  want,"  returned  Adams, 


128  THE    CARRIER. 


hurriedly.  "  There's  a  big  day's  work  be- 
fore me,  and  I  must  beofin  early." 

So  saying,  he  started  forth  on  his  way 
to  the  printing-office  to  get  his  portion  of 
the  addresses. 

"Ah !  good  morning,  Adams/'  said  a  man, 
just  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Good  morning/'  was  returned,  but 
coldly. 

"  This  is  New-year's  day/'  remarked  the 
man,  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
steadily  upon  the  face  of  Adams. 

"  I  didn't  need  you  to  remind  me  of  it," 
replied  Adams,  sharply,  and  with  an  angry 
expression  in  his  face. 

"You've  not  forgotten  your  promise,  I 
hope?" 

"What  promise?" 

"  To  pay  the  fifty  dollars  you  owe  me, 
to-day." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  do  it?"  Adams 
spoke  indignantly. 

"Oyes." 

"  Yery  well.     There  was  no  necessity  for 


THE   CARRIER.  129 


you  to  remind  me  of  my  promise.  None 
in  the  world." 

"  Creditors  are  always  somewhat  in  doubt 
as  to  their  debtors'  memories,"  retorted 
the  man,  with  a  good  deal  of  insolence  in 
his  tone. 

An  indignant  and  cutting  reply  was  on 
the  tongue  of  Adams ;  but  he  checked  him- 
self, and  bowing  coldly  to  the  grocer,  as  he 
turned  away,  said — 

"You'll  hear  from  me  to-day  or  to-mor- 
row." 

"I  warn  you,  for  your  own  sake,  to  keep 
your  word;  for  if  you  don't,  you'll  learn" — 

Adams  did  not  hear  the  conclusion  of  the 
sentence,  for  he  was  striding  away  rapidly. 

Going  direct  to  the  printing-office,  he 
procured  his  addresses,  and  immediately 
commenced  their  delivery.  He  did  not 
feel  very  comfortable  in  this — to  him — new 
emplo^Tiient.  Though  poor,  his  mind  was 
independent  in  its  turn;  and  this  seemed 
80  much  like  beMno;. 

CO       o 

"Mr    A 's  not  at  home.     You  can 


130  THE    CARRIER. 


see  him  at  dinner-time/'  was  the  answer 
he  received  on  presenting  his  address. 

A  slight  troubled  feeling  passed  over  the 
mind  of  Adan>s  as  he  turned  away. 

"What's  this?"  asked  the  next  person  to 
whom  he  handed  his  New  Year's  verses. 

'^Our  address/'  replied  the  carrier. 

The  man  glanced  his  eyes  hurriedly  and 
half  Contemptuously  over  it,  and  then 
handing  it  back,  remarked — 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  your  stuff.  I  never 
read  such  things."  >! 

Adams  retired  hastily,  and  in  confusion. 

It  required  a  great  deal  of  resolution  for 
him  to  present  his  next  address.  Fortu- 
nately, it  met  with  a  kinder  reception. 
The  patron  handed  him  half  a  dollar,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  spoke  a  pleasant  word. 

And  so  from  house  to  house,  and  store 
to  store,  the  carrier  passed,  now  receiving  a 
small  pittance,  and  now  meeting  With  a  rude 
and  unkind  rebuff,  but  more  frequently 
with  a  request  to  call  again,  as  Mr.  B.  or 


THE   CARRIER.  131 


C.  was  not  at  home,  or  else  happened  to 
have  no  change  in  his  pockets. 

The  whole  of  the  Carrier's  Addresses  were 
at  length  delivered,  and  Adams's  pockets 
were  heavier  only  by  the  sum  of  six  dol- 
lars and  a  quarter.  True,  he  had  been 
able  to  see  but  a  very  small  number  of  his 
patrons,  and  of  those  he  had  seen,  the  re- 
quests to  call  again  were  numerous.  His 
next  business  was  to  go  around  and  reap 
the  field  he  had  sown. 

Poor  John  Adams !  This  was  all  a  new 
business  for  him,  and  exceedingly  humili- 
ating. Had  it  not  been  for  the  imperious 
necessity  of  his  case,  not  another  one  of  the 
patrons  of  the  Gazette  would  have  seen  his 
honest  face.  But,  as  he  shivered  in  the 
sweeping  blast,  the  piercing  cold  reminded 
him  of  his  own  and  his  family's  needs ;  and 
once,  when,  disheartened  and  disgusted  with 
the  petty  insolence  of  some  to  whom  he 
applied,  he  was  on  his  way  homeward,  the 
sight  of  his  hard  creditor  passing  on  the 
opposite    side   of  the   street,   produced   a 


T.— L 


132  THE   CARKIER. 


change  of  purpose,  and  lie  again  turned  to 
the  performance  of  his  unpleasant  task. 

It  was  past  two  o'clock,  and  he  had 
not  yet  been  home  to  dinner.  He  was 
cold,  and  faint,  and  weary.  Only  eleven 
dollars  of  the  anticipated  seventy  or  eighty 
were  in  his  possession,  and  he  was  begin- 
ning to  droop  in  spirits,  and  to  feel  utterly 
disheartened. 

This  was  the  state  of  John  Adams  the 
carrier,  when  he  called  at  the  handsome 
house  of  Mr.  Garland.  He  knew  the  mer- 
chant by  sight  very  well,  and,  from  some 
cause,  had  a  strong  prepossession  in  his  far 
vour.  From  him  he  confidently  expected 
something  more  than  a  cold  refusal. 

"  How  easy  it  would  be  for  him  to  hand 
me  a  dollar,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  stood 
waiting  the  return  of  the  servant  who  had 
gone  to  notify  Mr.  Garland  that  the  carrier 
had  called  for  his  New  Year's  gift.  "He 
would  never  feel  it,  and  it  would  do  me  so 
much  good.     Ah,  me !  If  I  don't  do  a  great 


THE   CARRIER.  .  133 


deal  better  than  I  have  done,  I  don't  know 
what  is  to  become  of  me." 

Such  were  the  thoughts  passing  through 
his  mind,  when  the  servant  returned  and 
said,  in  a  very  insulting  tone  of  voice — 

"Mr.  Garland  says  you  may  just  go 
about  your  business,  with  your  old  Carriers' 
Address !     He's  paid  for  his  paper  once !" 

Unhappy  John  Adams!  This  was  the 
overflowing  drop  in  his  cup  of  bitterness. 
Slowly  he  turned  away  from  the  door  with- 
out speaking,  descended  the  marble  steps 
of  the  merchant's  splendid  house,  and,  with 
shrinking  form  and  bowed  head,  took  his 
way  homeward,  his  heart  weighed  down 
with  a  feeling  of  wretchedness. 

"Why,  John!  What  is  the  matter?" 
asked  his  wife,  in  an  anxious  voice,  as  her 
husband  entered  their  humble  abode. 

The  poor,  disappointed  carrier  did  not 
answer,  but  took  a  chair,  and  drawing  it 
close  up  to  the  stove,  sat  down,  and  resting 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  bent  over  and  hid 
his  face  in  his  hands. 


134  .  THE   CARRIER. 


"Jolin!  what  ails  you?  Are  you  sick? 
Speak!  Tell  me  what'  is  the  matter?" 
anxiously  urged  the  distressed  wife. 

"Ohj  nothing,  nothing,"  replied  Adams, 
in  a  low,  sad  voice;  still  remaining  in  his 
bowed  position,  and  only  partly  removing 
his  hands  from  his  face. 

"  But  there  is,  John.  There's  something 
the  matter.  How  have  you  made  out  with 
your  addresses?" 

"  Bad  enough !"  replied  Adams. 

This  was  throwing  a  ray  of  light  on  the 
subject  of  his  unusual  appearance  and  con- 
duct. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  built  too  largely,"  said 
his  wife.     ^'What  have  you  received?" 

"Insult,  and  eleven  dollars!" 

"Why,  John!" 

There  was  a  tone  of  painful  disappoint- 
ment in  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Adams. 

A  long,  sad,  heart-depressing  silence  fol- 
lowed. 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  at  length  came 
from  the  lips  of  the  wife. 


THE   CARRIER.  135 


"Heaven  only  knows,"  was  the  carrier's 
half-mournful  reply.  "  There  is  no  help  in 
man." 

Had  Adams  gone  to  the  next  patron  of 
the  Gazette,  a  kind-hearted,  thoughtful  in- 
dividual, he  would  have  received  a  dollar. 
And  there  were  a  dozen  others  like  him  in 
the  next  few  blocks.  But  all  this  was  lost 
to  the  poor  man,  in  consequence  of  the  rude 
rebuff  from  the  unreflecting  and  rather  sus- 
picious-minded merchant. 

A  week  passed,  and,  one  morning,  Mr. 
Garland  failed  to  receive  his  paper.  On 
calling  for  it  at  the  office,  he  asked  why  it 
had  not  been  delivered? 

"The  carrier  is  sick,"  he  received  for 
answer,  "  and  the  man  we  sent  did  not  serve 
his  round  correctly." 

"Sick,  is  he?"  said  Mr.  Garland,  half- 
thoughtfully.  There  came  an  instant  re- 
membrance of  the  rude  rebuff  he  had  given 
him. 

"Yes,"  ans^^ered  the  office-clerk,  with 
whom  he  was  speaking.     "He  is  a  very 

1.2 


136  THE   CARRIER. 


poor  man,  and  it  seems  that  he  had  insuf- 
ficient clothing  for  the  sharp  weather  of  the 
last  ten  days." 

"  Ah !  That's  bad/'  was  almost  involun- 
tarily said  by  Mr.  Garland. 

"Yes,  it  is  bad,"  returned  the  clerk. 
"Adams  is  an  honest,  faithful,  and  deserv- 
ing man.  Unfortunately  for  him,  he  had 
poor  luck  with  his  New  Year's  Addresses. 
Instead  of  getting  a  hundred  dollars,  as  he 
expected,  he  did  not  get  over  ten.  Some 
of  our  subscribers  treated  him  roughly,  and 
he  being  sensitive,  gave  up  calling  on  them. 
It  is  death  to  a  certain  class  of  people  to 
part  with  a  shilling.  Poor  Adams,"  ran 
on  the  clerk — "it  has  proved  particularly 
hard  in  his  case.  He  had  lost  a  good  place 
from  sickness,  and  was  out  at  the  elbows, 
and  in  debt,  when  he  commenced  carrying 
our  paper.  To  New  Year's  Day  he  looked 
forward  anxiously;  and,  if  he  had  done  as 
well  with  his  addresses  as  the  other  carriers 
— receiving  a  half,  quarter,  or  even  a  small- 
er part  of  a  dollar  from  the  patrons  he  had 


THE   CARRIER.  137 


served  during  the  season,  lie  would  have 
had  enough  to  pay  his  debt  and  get  some 
comfortable  clothes  for  himself  and  family. 
As  it  is,  we  had  to  protect  him  from  the 
heartless  man  to  whom  he  owed  some  fifty 
dollars.  But  this  has  not  availed  to  ward 
off  the  consequences  of  his  ill-luck  on  New 
Year's  Day.  His  spirits  sank — he  could  see 
no  hope  of  relief — his  health  failed,  and  he 
is  now  very  sick.  A  violent  cold,  taken 
while  ser^dng  his  papers — (being  too  thinly 
clad  for  such  severe  exposure,  and  under 
mental  depression) — was  too  much  for  his 
strength — he  gave  way,  and  had  tc  go  to 
bed." 

^' Where  does  he  live?"  asked  Mr.  Gar- 
land, as  he  turned  away  from  the  desk. 

The  clerk  mentioned  the  carrier's  resi- 
dence, and  Mr.  Garland  said  "Good  morn- 
ing,'* and  retired. 

"Oh,  what  are  we  to  do?"  groaned  the 
troubled  sick  man,  as  he  tossed  from  side 
to  side  of  his  hard  bed.     "  What  are  we  to 


138  THE    CARKIER. 


do?  If  this  sickness  continues,  we  shall 
starve,  and  be  houseless." 

"Don't  fret  so,  John,"  said  the  wife,  in  a 
low,  sad  voice,  into  which  she  tried  to  throw 
a  cheerful  expression.  "  Try  and  keep  quiet. 
This  worrying  only  makes  you  worse." 

"But  what  are  we  to  do?"  exclaimed 
John  Adams,  partly  rising  up  in  bed.  "I 
see  no  hope  for  us.  I  won't  be  able  to  carry 
my  round  in  a  week,  and  then  it  may  be  as 
much  as  my  life  is  worth  to  venture  out  in 
the  cold,  so  thinly  clad  as  I  am." 

"God  will  take  care  of  us,"  murmured 
the  poor  wife,  whose  heart  was  as  troubled 
and  desponding  as  that  of  her  husband. 
And  she  turned  her  head  away  as  she  spoke, 
to  conceal  the  tears  that  were  starting  from 
her  eyes. 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock.  Mrs. 
Adams  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  and 
then  opened  the  door. 

"Is  this  where  John  Adams,  the  carrier 
of  the  Gazette,  lives?"  asked  the  man  who 


THE    CARRIER.  139 


stood  without,  holding  a  bundle  in  one 
hand,  and  a  letter  in  the  other. 

^^It  is,"  replied  the  wife,  in  a  faltering 
voice. 

''Give  him  this  letter  and  bundle." 

And  he  handed  them  to  Mrs.  Adams, 
bowed,  and  retired  without  further  commu- 
nication. 

The  letter  was  superscribed  with  the 
name  of  the  carrier,  who  opened  it  eagerly. 
Within  was  written — 

'Tor  John  Adams,  Carrier  of  the  Ga- 
zette." The  contents  were  ten  five-dollar 
bills  and  one  of  the  Carrier's  Addresses. 
But  the  letter  had  no  signature. 

The  bundle  contained  a  new  overcoat  of 
stout  cloth,  and  a  pair  of  heavy  knit  woollen 
under-shirts, — each  was  ticketed— 

"For  John  Adams,  Carrier  of  the  Ga- 
zette." 

For  a  little  while  the  sick  man  gazed 
with  a  bewildered  mind  upon  the  money 
and   clothing.     Then   sobbing   out   aloud, 


140  THE   CARRIER. 


covered  his  face,  and,  sinking  back,  buried 
it  in  a  pillow. 

"  God  will  take  care  of  us,"  murmured 
the  wife  again,  glancing  upward  her  tear- 
ful eyes.  With  what  different  emotions 
did  she  give  utterance  now,  to  this  senti- 
ment of  confidence  in  Heaven ! 

And  thus  we  will  leave  the  carrier  and 
his  family. 

We  need  not  tell  the  reader  that  this 
timely  relief  came  from  Mr.  Garland,  who 
thus  sought  to  repair  the  wrong  his  lack 
of  good  feeling  had  occasioned. 


TEAYELLIXG   ALONE. 


^^TSN'T  it  too  mucli!"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Austin,  tossing  a  note  from  her  which 
she  had  just  opened  and  read,  while  her 
face  expressed  strongly  both  disappoint- 
ment and  vexation.  "  Here  I've  waited 
more  than  a  week  for  company  to  New 
York,  and  now  Mr.  Barker,  who  was  to 
have  taken  me  under  his  care,  has  gone  off 
without  me.  It  is  really  too  bad,  and  I  am 
dying  to  get  home." 

"  Has  Mr.  Barker  really  gone  without 
you  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Martier,  a  friend  with 
whom  Mrs.  Austin  had  been  spending  a 
short  time  in  Philadelphia.  "  How  in  the 
world  has  that  happened  ?" 

141 


142  TRAVELLIXG   ALONE. 


"  Here's  a  note  from  him,  in  wliicli  he 
says  that  just  as  the  line  was  about  start- 
ing this  morning,  he  received  intelligence 
from  home  which  made  it  necessary  that 
he  should  leave  instantly.  He  expresses 
regret,  and  all  that — but  he  might  have 
stayed  another  day  as  easily  as  not,  I  am 
sure.  What  matter  could  a  day  have  made 
in  any  case  ?" 

"It  might  have  been  of  great  conse- 
quence to  him,  Mrs.  Austin.  But  he  is 
gone,  now,  and  it  can't  be  helped.  It  is 
said  to  be  a  bad  wind  that  blows  no- 
body good.  I  shall  have  your  company  for 
a  few  days  longer.  So,  I  need  not  com- 
plain." 

"  Yes,  but  Mrs.  Martier,  I  am,  as  I  said, 
dying  to  get  home.  You  know  how  badly 
I  want  to  see  my  husband  and  children." 

"Another  opportunity  will,  no  doubt, 
offer  in  a  few  days,  or  you  can  go  alone,  if 
the  worst  comes  to  the  worst." 

"  Go  alone  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Austin,  in 
profound  surprise. 


TRAVELLING   ALONE.  143 


'^Certainly.  And  why  not?"  returned 
the  friend. 

"  Go  alone  !  I'm  astonished  to  hear  you 
say  so." 

"  Ladies  often  go  alone  between  this  city 
and  New  York." 

"  Not  ladies,  certainly.  No  lady  would 
think  of  taking  such  a  journey  without  an 
escort." 

"  Yes,  ladies  !"  returned  Mrs.  Martier. 

'^  Who,  pray,  would  do  so  imprudent  a 
thing?" 

^^  I  have  done  so  more  than  once." 

"  You  !  I'm  astonished  ?"  The  expres- 
sion of  Mrs.  Austin's  countenance  showed 
that  she  spoke  truly. 

''  Certainly." 

"And  were  yo.i  not  annoyed  and  in- 
sulted by  vulgar  and  impudent  people  ?" 

"  Never.  Alone,  upon  the  deck  or  in  the 
cabin  of  a  steamboat,  I  have  been  as  polite- 
ly treated  by  strangers  as  in  a  friend's 
drawing-room;  and  far  more  so  than  in 
v.— M 


144  TRAVELLING    ALONE. 


many  public  assemblies,  surrounded  by  the 
elite  and  the  fashionable." 

"  Incredible !" 

"Yet  true,  nevertheless.  Why,  even 
carping  travellers  from  abroad  have  re- 
corded the  fact,  so  honourable  to  the  people 
of  this  country,  that  a  lady  may  travel  in 
the  United  States  from  Maine  to  Louisiana, 
unattended  by  a  male  friend,  and  never 
once  be  insulted  in  a  stage,  on  a  steamboat, 
or  in  a  railroad  car." 

At  this  stage  of  the  conversation,  Mr. 
Martier,  the  husband  of  the  last  speaker, 
came  in. 

"What  do  you  think,  dear?"  said  his 
wife.  "  Mrs.  Austin  is  afraid  to  travel  be- 
tween here  and  New  York  alone." 

"  Afraid !     And  why  so,  Mrs.  Austin  ?" 

"  I  should  be  liable  to  insult." 

"  Oh  no !  I've  travelled  a  good  deal  in 
my  time,  and  have  yet  to  see  the  first  in- 
stance  of  a  lady  being  insulted.  A  woman 
is  as  secure  from  insult  in  a  railroad  car 


TRAVELLING  ALCNE.  145 


or  steamboat,  as  in  her  own  parlour.  The 
attention  paid  to  ladies  who  are  travelling 
alone  is  proverbial.  On  board  of  steam- 
boats, they  are  particularly  attended  to  by 
the  captain.  In  railroad  cars,  the  conduc- 
tor looks  to  their  comfort,  and  sees  that  no 
one  annoys  them ;  and  a  ^  lone'  lady  in  a 
stage-coach  is  under  the  especial  care  of 
each  male  passenger,  and  all  vie  in  shoeing 
her  courteous  attentions.  But  let  me  relate 
a  single  incident  which  came  under  my  own 
eye. 

"A  few  years  ago,  I  had  business  in 
Ohio.  In  returning,  I  came  home  by  the 
way  of  Pittsburg.  On  leaving  that  city, 
early  one  morning,  I  found  that  my  fellow- 
passengers  were  two  in  number.  From 
their  conversation,  I  discovered  that  I  had, 
as  companions  for  my  journey,  two  of  the 
most  vulgar,  obscene,  blasphemous  men  it 
had  ever  been  my  lot  to  meet.  Their  lan- 
guage was  coarse  and  filthy,  and  nearly 
every  other  word  was  an  oath,  an  imprecar 
tion,  or  some  startling  appeal  to  the  Gr^r^o,* 


146  TRAVELLING  ALONE. 


Euler  above,  that  really  made  my  flesh 
creep.  Occasionally  a  word  was  addressed 
to  me.  I  never  replied  beyond  a  mere  mo- 
nosyllable, for  I  was  too  much  disgusted 
with  their  language  to  be  even  civil  to 
them.  From  the  tune  we  started  until  we 
got  to  Greensburg,  which  was  several  hours, 
they  talked  incessantly;  and  I  am  sure, 
that  during  that  time,  there  were  not  ut- 
tered five  consecutive  words  that  could 
have  been  spoken  in  a  lady's  jDresence 
without  grossly  offending  her.  By  this 
time  I  had  learned,  from  their  conversa- 
tion, that  one  was  a  merchant  and  the  other 
a  planter.  This  fact  surprised  me.  ^Is 
it  possible,'  I  said  to  myself,  Hhat  men 
moving  in  the  society  of  merchants  and 
planters  can  be  really  so  lost  to  all  de- 
cency and  virtue  as  these  men  appear 
to  be?' 

"  At  Greensburg,  much  to  my  regret,  a 
lady  way-passenger  took  her  seat  in  the 
stage.  '  Here  comes  trouble  now,'  I  thought 
to  myself     '  Of  course,  it  will  not  be  ten 


TRAVELLINa   ALONE.  147 

fiainutes  before  this  lady  is  grossly  insultecl 
by  their  offensive  language,  and  I  cannot 
sit  by  in  silence.' 

"  Thus  thought  I,  as  one  of  my  fellow- 
passengers  took  his  seat  beside  the  lady  in 
quite  a  familiar  style,  though  with  a  degree 
of  respect  and  a  gentlemanly  deportment 
that  I  could  not  help  noticing  with  sur- 
prise. The  driver  spoke  to  his  horses,  and 
away  we  rolled  again,  I  expecting  every 
moment  to  be  called  upon  to  interfere  for 
the  protection  of  the  lady.  But  no  such 
unpleasant  necessity  occurred.  From  the 
moment  the  lady  entered  the  stage,  my 
companions  seemed  like  different  men. 
They  uttered  no  word  nor  made  any  allu- 
sion that  might  not  have  been  spoken  in  a 
drawing-room.  To  her,  their  attentions 
were  kind  and  respectful,  actually  putting 
my  frigid  politeness  to  the  blush.  At  every 
stopping-place,  one  or  the  other  would  vo- 
lunteer to  hand  a  glass  of  water,  or  procure 
her  some  choice  fruit ;  and  this  not  to  show 
off,  as  any  one  could  have  seen,  but  from, 

u2 


148  TRAVELLING  ALONE. 


as  it  appeared,  a  habit  of  treating  ladies,  at 
all  times,  with  attention  and  respectful 
consideration.  For  four  hours  our  lady 
passenger  remained  with  us,  and  during 
that  time  not  once  did  the  two  men  forget 
themselves.  When  the  stage  stopped  at 
the  village  to  which  she  was  going,  one  of 
them  took  her  bandbox  in  his  hand,  and 
waited  upon  her  to  her  residence,  which 
stood  at  a  little  distance  from  the  stage- 
office.  Upon  all  this  I  looked  with  silent 
surprise.  I  could  hardly  believe  it  possible 
that  men  could  act  perfectly  in  two  charac- 
ters so  opposite.  I  was  no  less  surprised, 
when  we  again  took  our  seats  in  the  coach, 
to  hear  the  man  who  had  just  waited  upon 
the  lady  home,  compose  himself  for  his 
ride  with  a  foul  expression  falling  from  his 
tongue,  in  the  most  natural  way  possible. 
From  that  moment  both  resumed  their  old 
characters,  which  were  continued  for  several 
hours,  when  a  little  girl,  about  eleven  years 
old,  was  placed  in  the  coach  to  go  ten  miles. 
Her  presence  changed  them  instantly.  Not 


TRAVELLING  ALONE.  149 


an  indelicate  word  was  uttered,  nor  an 
oath  sworn  while  she  remained  with  us. 
On  the  contrary,  the  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion were  changed,  and  much  of  it  di- 
rected to  the  child,  from  whom  one  of  them 
drew,  ingeniously,  a  history  of  herself  and 
an  account  of  her  sch  ool-companions.  When 
she  left  us,  the  old  character  was  resumed. 
And  these  alternations  continued  through- 
out the  journey. 

"  This,  Mrs.  Austin,  is  a  strong,  but  true 
instance  of  the  respect  and  attention  paid 
to  females  when  travelling  alone  in  this 
country.  If  even  in  a  stage-coach  their 
feelings  and  character  are  so  much  respect- 
ed, how  less  liable  are  they  to  insult  in 
the  cabin  of  a  steamboat,  or  in  the  commo- 
dious railroad  car  T 

But  Mrs.  Austin  could  not  be  convinced. 
Day  after  day,  however,  passed,  and  she 
could  get  no  escort.  And,  finally,  she  be- 
came so  impatient  to  get  home,  that  she 
actually  ventured  upon  the  perils  of  a 
journey,  unattended,  between  the  cities  of 


150  TRAVELLING  ALONE. 


Philadelphia  and  New  York.  Mr.  Martier 
took  the  passage  for  her,  attended  her  over 
to  Camden,  saw  to  her  baggage,  and  pro- 
cured her  a  pleasant  seat  in  the  cars.  When 
he  bade  her  good-by,  her  hand  trembled 
and  she  looked  pale  and  uneasy.  He  could 
hardly  help  smiling  in  her  face  at  her  weak- 
ness and  timidity. 

"All  aboard,"  was  soon  uttered,  and  away 
she  went,  feeling  as  much  like  a  cat  in  a 
strange  garret  as  well  could  be,  considering 
the  difference  of  relation  between  a  lady  and 
a  cat,  and  a  railroad  and  an  attic.  Before 
and  behind  her  sat  gentlemen,  from  whom 
she  expected  every  moment  to  receive  some 
insult.  But  after  riding  some  twenty  miles, 
she  began  to  breathe  more  freely,  as  one  of 
them,  once  or  twice  during  that  time,  ad- 
dressed a  few  polite  words  to  her,  and  seemed 
quite  disposed  to  regard  her  lone  condition, 
and  relieve  its  embarrassments  as  much  as 
possible.  After  passing  Borden  town,  this 
individual  resumed  his  attention,  though 
with  that  reserved  politeness  which  marked 


TRAVELLING  ALONE.  151 


him  as  a  gentleman.  Mrs.  Austin  was  a 
woman  of  education  and  intelligence ;  tlie 
remarks  in  answer  to  his,  soon  enabled 
him  to  appreciate  her,  and  so  to  choose  his 
subjects  of  conversation  as  to  draw  her  out 
and  enable  her  to  take  a  Mr  part  in  the 
conversation.  This  she  soon  did,  and  so 
much  interested  did  she  become,  that  she 
forgot  all  attending  disagreeable  things, 
and  looked  up  with  surprise  when  the  cars 
stopped  at  Amboy. 

In  descending  from  the  cars,  the  gentle- 
man who  had  been  conversing  with  her, 
assisted  her,  and  then  gave  her  his  arm 
and  politely  attended  her  to  the  boat.  The 
remainder  of  the  journey  was  passed  in  a 
most  agreeable  manner.  The  stranger  had 
two  or  three  very  gentlemanly  and  intelh- 
gent  friends,  who  joined  him  on  the  boat, 
and  these  were  informally  introduced  to 
Mrs.  Austin,  around  whom  they  gathered, 
charmed  with  her  conversation,  and  in 
their  turn  delighting  her  with  theirs. 

When   the   boat  touched  the  wharf  at 


152  TRAVELLING  ALONE. 


New  York,  the  lady's  liusband  stepped  on 
board,  and  received  his  wife,  with  a  polite 
bow  and  smile  upon  her  gentlemanly  vo- 
Imiteer  attendant. 

"  And  so  you  have  really  accomplished 
this  most  unheard-of  task,"  said  Mr.  Austin 
smiling.  "  Most  thankful  am  I  to  receive 
you  safe  and  sound  from  the  perils  of  your 
journey.  Who  ever  heard  before  of  a  lady 
travelling  alone  between  New  York  and 
Philadelphia?  But  you  had  an  escort,  I 
recollect.  Who  in  the  world  introduced 
you  to  Governor  — — ?" 

"  Governor !"  exclaimed  the  lady  in 

surprise.    "Was  that  Governor ?" 

"  Certainly  it  was !  Who  put  you  under 
his  charge  ?" 

"  No  one.  He  sat  near  me  in  the  cars, 
and  seeing  that  I  was  alone,  volunteered 
the  most  j^olite   attention.     But  I  never 

could  have  believed  that  Governor 

would  have  paid  attentions  to  a  lady  tra- 
velling alone." 

"  Governor is  a  man  of  too  much 


TRAVELLING  ALONE.  153 


good  sense  to  see  any  thing  disreputable  in 
a  lady's  sometimes  taking  a  journey  un- 
attended by  a  male  friend,  and  of  too  much 
observation  and  knowledge  of  people  to 
mistake  the  character  of  any  one  he  may 
happen  to  meet  even  in  a  railroad  car. 
But,  welcome  home  again !  Another  time 
I  shall  not  consent  to  your  going  to  any 
place  on  a  visit  from  which  you  are  afraid 
to  return,  even  unattended  by  Gover* 
nor !" 


THE  END. 


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